


Rehabilitation

by YIWT



Series: Rehabilitation [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Thor (2011)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Torture, heed the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:22:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 57,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YIWT/pseuds/YIWT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: when Loki falls, Thor dives after him and snatches him back.  The Allfather punishes his wayward son.</p><p>Warning: This story is not very gory, but it *does* contain torture.  In fact, the first 2/3 of it are composed almost entirely of torture.  It also contains introspection on Loki's part, and eventual Thor/Loki h/c.  (No slash.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

***********************************

Loki let go.  Thor was screaming _NO_ above him, wild and desperate, and Loki felt a hot surge of pride at having wrecked him this badly.  Then he had no more time to think of Thor, because he was falling.

Some time later his fall was arrested by a jarring metallic thud; armor on armor.  He tried to focus his eyes in the disorienting glittering darkness, and made out the gleam of Mjolnir.  Thor had dived after him.

Loki started to struggle.  “What are you doing?” he screamed at the top of his lungs.  He couldn’t hear himself; he didn’t know if Thor could either.  “Let me go.  Let me die.”

_Never, brother._   The words echoed in Loki’s head and he didn’t know if they were really there, or he had imagined them.  How could he tell?

“What is that woman’s name?” he shouted.  He _couldn’t_ imagine the answer to that one - he didn’t know.

_Her name is Jane, and I will kill or die to protect her.  Don’t you dare threaten her again._

Classic Thor.  “Go back to her.  Let me fall.”

_I will never let go.  I am bringing you home, brother._

“I don’t want to go home, and I’m not your brother.  Thor, please – if you truly want to help me, then please just let me go.”

_Never._

The blackness brightened, Asgard in the distance, coming closer and closer and Loki braced for the impact but Thor had never been the most graceful of flyers.  Or landers.  His head rang and he rolled and bounced fifty feet down the bridge before coming to rest against a pair of armored boots.  The Allfather.  Wonderful.

He closed his eyes and hoped to pass out.

***********************************

No such luck.  A few moments later Loki was kneeling, next to Thor who was also kneeling, heads bowed as they waited for the Allfather to speak.

First, Odin put out his hand and let it hover in the air over Loki’s head.  Loki felt a curious _emptying,_ a pouring-out, and knew without asking that he had just been sapped of his magic.

No matter – he had expected that.  He would simply have to convince the Allfather to give it back.

“Loki,” Odin began.  Quiet, ponderous.  Loki tried not to flinch visibly.  “You have taken lives.  Endangered lives.  Committed terrible treason.  You deserve to be put to death.”

Thor spoke up from the ground.  “Father, no,” he said.  Loki wanted to roll his eyes.  Couldn’t Thor hear the _but_ in what Odin was saying?  “I will not have my brother killed.  I would sooner die fighting in his defense.”

Stupid and misguided as that was, it made Loki’s chest hurt a little bit. He reached out along the ground for Thor’s hand, and gave it a squeeze.

But he also made his own wishes heard.  “Allfather, I know you don’t mean to kill me,” he said, amazed at the steadiness of his own voice.  “But I beg you to reconsider.  Everything I loved has been taken from me.  My dreams, my friends, my family – even my name.  I want to die.  Quickly, cleanly, and at once.  Please.”  Finally he looked up.

Odin was staring down at him, and it was impossible not to read compassion in his face.  Loki felt his stomach sink.  They weren’t going to kill him after all.  “No, Loki.  You will be punished, but not by death.”

“Yes!  Yes, of course.”  Thor didn’t let go of his hand.  “You can banish him, as you banished me, send him down to Midgard, let him learn-”

“ _No,”_ Odin said quietly.  Thor fell silent at once.  “He does not need what you needed.  His crimes, his failings, are different.”

_What are you going to do to me?_   Loki’s tongue was stuck to his mouth. He couldn’t manage the words.

Thor said it for him.  “Then what will his punishment be?”

“Something terrible that he will never forget,” Odin answered at once.  “Something that will strip away his pride, and his greed, and the lies he tells himself.”

Loki swallowed hard.  “Something,” he repeated.  “What?”

“Come to me in one hour.  By then everything will be arranged, and I will explain it to you.  Loki?” The Allfather's gaze was hard. “Your word as a Prince of Asgard that you will appear as commanded.”

Loki shook his head.  “I cannot.  I told you: I want death.”

“I said _no_.”  Odin gave an exasperated sigh.  “But if you still crave death once your punishment is over, I will give it to you.”

“Then I'll come.” Not that he had a choice. If he refused, Thor would just-

“I’ll make sure, Father.”  Right on cue, Thor spoke up.  “I won’t leave Loki’s side.”

***********************************

They spent the next hour in silence.  Thor stared with wounded eyes and waited for Loki to speak up, to explain, and Loki glared and tried to keep himself too occupied with hatred to feel sorry.  When it was time they went together, falling comfortably in step as always, and when they reached Odin’s door they made eye contact one last time.  “No matter what, brother, I love you,” Thor said, with more stubbornness than affection.

“Shut up.”  Loki felt his smile waver and did his best to shore it up.  “You’ll be a king soon.  You can’t be so naïve.”

They walked in together.  Odin was not alone.  There were two strange-looking warriors standing beside him, blank, obedient, and of some race Loki had never seen before. 

“Are those my jailers?”

“They are your keepers for the time being,” Odin agreed.  He turned to the creatures and said:  “These are my instructions.  I say them here with my sons as witnesses, so that Loki will know what lies in store for him and Thor will understand what I have done with his brother.”  He cleared his throat.  Loki readied himself for action.  Odin would speak words of banishment, he would mouth some servile garbage, drop to his knees, possibly cry.  He would say _Father_ and _Brother_ as many times as possible.

“Loki is a Prince of Asgard, and my beloved son,” Odin began.  “Therefore I want him treated with all possible respect and civility.  While he is in your custody I expect his treatment to befit his station; he is not to be dishonored or degraded without purpose.”

“We understand,” one of the creatures said.  Its voice was low and even.  A drone.  Loki named them Drone One and Drone Two immediately.  Drone Two stepped up beside its fellow.  “What would you have done with him?”

“I would have you take him to your dungeons, and torture him until he breaks.”

_?!?_

_That_ was not what Loki had expected to hear.  He licked his lips, his mind churning, thinking, assessing, planning.  Needing to say the right thing – there was no room for error.

Thor did not wait.  “ _What_?!  Father.  You can't be serious.  You-”

Odin held up his hand for silence, sharply, and went on as if the interruption had never happened. “I want you to tear him apart body and spirit,” he told the Drones.  “His mind is his most powerful weapon.  He must suffer until he loses it.”

That was sickening – obscene.  The world rocked and Loki realized he had gone down to one knee, bracing his hands on the floor for support.  His _mind_?  Better Odin had ordered them to cut off a limb, put out an eye.  At least then he would still be-...

He swallowed down a throatful of acid with determination and spoke up, right words be dammed.  He had to say _something._   “ _Not that._   Father, please, not that.  Anything.  Death.  _Anything_ but my-”

“Father.”  Thor stood between them and for a few moments Loki felt himself hoping.  “I cannot stand by.”

Odin only said: “You must trust me.”

Thor stood still a moment, and Loki knew what must be running (plodding) through his mind: _My banishment worked out so well; surely Father is just as wise in planning for poor wayward little Loki._  

Thor moved aside, and Loki suddenly felt a lot less safe cowering on the ground.  He rose up, mouth watering against the bile, trying to blink clarity back to his vision.  “Father.”

Odin's attention was on the Drones again.  “I will want him whole again, after,” he said.  “So do not maim him.  I would also prefer that you not subject him to sexual defilement, as I find the thought incredibly distasteful, but I will leave the decision in your hands.”

This could not be happening.  Loki stared, all his words deserting him.

“Loki.” Odin sighed. “You deserve to suffer for what you have done, and I will not have you sitting even _near_ the throne of Asgard until I can trust you better.  My son... this is the only way.” He stepped close and put a hand on Loki's neck.  It was more physical affection than Loki had had from the Allfather since he was six years old, and the surprise helped unfreeze him enough to speak.

“Trust me?  How does destroying me make me any more worthy of trust?” he argued desperately.  “Trust does not come from torture.  Father, what you need to do is-“

“Don’t you presume to teach me how to rule.”  Odin’s voice was quiet, but it cut.  He removed his hand. “What I _need_ to do is find out where you went wrong, how you could have done what you did.  I will put you to the question like any traitor until I am satisfied we have found the truth.  Once we understand your false ideas, we can replace them with better ones.”

Loki's eyes were blurring.  “Father, no.”

“Go now, Loki.  Go with my love and my blessing.”

Loki looked once more to Thor, who was also crying.  “I am so sorry for you, brother,” he said.  “For what you have felt and what you have done.  But be glad: Father is not casting you out.  I will wait for you and greet you with joy when you return.  I will help you heal however I can.  I will help you find happiness.”

“Did- did you not _hear_ him?” Loki sputtered.  “This is madness.  Barbaric.”   He was so panicked he could hardly draw breath and his mind, it seemed, had already slowed.  Something he would perhaps have to get used to.

Odin and Thor did not answer him.  At last, one of the Drones spoke up.  "Prince Loki.  Please cross your wrists."

A long, long silence.  _Prince_ Loki, it had said.  Yes.  He would not embarrass himself in front of his f-… in front of _Odin and Thor_ , any more than he already had.  He stood up straight and found Thor's gaze.  He held it while he crossed his wrists in front of him.  He held it when the Drone passed some sort of tingling rod over them, sealing them together by a magic that on any other day would have fascinated him endlessly.

He tugged once; the bond did not hurt, but it was unbreakable.  Thor looked away.

“Thor.  Allfather.  I would ask one thing.”  Loki was pleased that his voice was holding steady.  “If my mind is damaged beyond repair, then I want you to kill me.  I do not want to live on as a madman, or an idiot, or a vegetable.  Will you grant me that?”

“Brother, I swear it,” Thor said, his voice thick.

Odin said: “It will not come to that, my son.” 

It was cold comfort.

*********************************************

TBC.

I love comments. They keep me going. If you're enjoying this, please let me know! I'll post again tomorrow night.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:  In this chapter Loki remains resilient and resourceful.  To those of you who are waiting eagerly for the dark bits where he starts to fall apart:  Sorry.  Next chapter.

**************************************

His room was clean and bare.  A small simple bed with bedding, a light overhead, a toilet and sink in the corner.  A clock on the wall.

“You may think of this room as a place of safety, Prince Loki,” Drone One told him.  “You will not be harmed while you are here.  You will not be harmed at all tonight, or tomorrow.  The morning after that, we will come fetch you and we will bring you to the dungeons to begin.  Raise your hands.”

Loki did as he was told, and out came the magic binding rod.  When his hands were free Drone Two came close.  “Prince Loki?  Take off your cloak and armor, please,” he said.

The constant _Prince Prince Prince_ -ing was already beginning to annoy him.  “Oh, just Loki,” he said with what he hoped was a winning smile.  “I'll have courtesy if you don't mind, but you are not my servants or my subjects.  Unfortunately.”

The friendly overture seemed to sail right over their empty little heads.  “As you wish, Loki.  Do you need help with your armor?”

“Yes, thank you.”  Loki let them remove it – one didn't wear armor in the house anyway.  When it was off and he stood just in his trousers and tunic he felt lighter, but also more vulnerable.  He held his head high.  “Is that all?”

“Cross your wrists behind your back.”

Loki did as he was told, turning away so they could reach him with the rod.  It was best, he knew, to store up as much goodwill as possible by cooperating now.  Even with such a silly precaution – did they think he planned to try to escape this cell?  He didn’t even know what _planet_ he was on.  Where did they expect him to try to go?

Once he was secured the Drones stepped away from him.  “You can rest until the morning after tomorrow,” one reminded him. 

They left.  Loki was so worn out that he headed straight for the bed, wriggled underneath the covers, and curled up on his side where his bound hands wouldn't get in the way.  He fell into a deep sleep immediately.

... And woke up after just an hour, as his left arm was numb and his shoulder throbbing.  He reflexively tried to move, then remembered he was tied, and then flopped over onto his other side with a sigh.  The pins and needles of feeling returning to his left hand was annoying, but after a few moments it subsided and he dropped right off again.

Fifty minutes later and he was awake.  His other shoulder, now, crushed beneath him.  He tried to roll back to his left side and slide back into sleep again, but his shoulders were both already sore and it was uncomfortable to rest his full weight on them.  He was so exhausted though, too exhausted to move, and he just lay limp, trying to ignore the unpleasant pressure, and eventually he managed a sort of light doze.

By rolling side to side, sitting up periodically to stretch as best he could, and by being so bone-weary he could hardly open his eyes, Loki got through another few hours.  But there came a time when the ache in his shoulders was so fierce it kept him from resting, and then he had to try something else. 

He lay on his back.  But that crunched his wrists together and dug into his spine; within seconds he gave that up and flipped onto his stomach.  There he couldn't breathe.  He arched his back hard to try and keep his face from being lost in the pillow, and it didn't work, and his frustration finally got the best of him and he started to rage.  He snarled at his own stupidity and weakness, to be defeated by such a simple thing as hands tied behind his back.  He looked at the clock and realized the night was half gone and he was running out of time to rest, and all he had managed so far was to become even more tired than before.  He twisted and tried to find some comfortable way of lying, and failed, and yanked at his bindings and eventually started to cry.  Crying felt good, and he did it for a while.  He wished Thor were here to pound him into the pavement again and make him cry harder.

When the tantrum was over he knew that the bed was a lost cause.  He sat up, awkwardly, and swung his legs over the side.  He got out of bed.  He lay down on the cold hard floor on his stomach, held his breath and listened to his body. 

He could sleep like this, he decided after a moment.  It wasn't comfortable, but it would do.  He knelt up and turned around to grab at his blankets, and managed to bring one down on top of him so that he would be a little warmer.  Then he slept.

****************************************

He awoke to the light hydraulic hiss of his door opening.  He saw the back of a Drone as it went out, wondered how he had failed to hear it come in, and then stopped caring when he saw that it had left him food.




There was a spoon and a napkin laid out beside the food, which reminded Loki that _his fucking hands were tied behind his back_ and he wouldn’t be able to eat it.

He looked up to the ceiling.  There must be a spying device in here; what was the purpose of tormenting him if there was nobody to see it?  “Very amusing,” he called.  “If you’re hoping I’ll throw my face in it I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.”

The mush was filling the air with a tantalizing cinnamon aroma and Loki’s stomach was rumbling.  Without his sorcery, he didn’t know how to shut it up other than by eating.  But he couldn’t imagine a way to eat with dignity, and he would rather be hungry than sloppy.

He froze.  He _would_ rather be hungry than sloppy.  But teaching his captors that truth would only give them information about how to torture him more effectively.  So he forced a smirk and added aloud: “But I don’t plan to let you deprive me of my breakfast.”

He went and knelt by the table.   It smelled _so good_ that for a moment he really did want to just lean forward and dive in.  But his hair was hanging loose, and he didn’t want to get clumps of food in it, so he couldn’t approach the bowl from above.  He would have to think of something else.  Preferably before the substance got cold; he imagined it would not be nearly so appealing then.

After a few moments of thought Loki turned to scoop the napkin up with his hands.  Behind his back he folded it up and laid it at the edge of the table. He turned to face the table again, trying to memorize everything’s position.  At last he turned, fumbled for the bowl (slowly, so as not to knock over the yellow drink) and carefully – _carefully –_ moved it to rest atop the napkin.

Loki grinned when he saw what he had done; this was going to _work_!  He knelt down in front of the table, blew his hair out of his face, and leaned forward to take the rim the bowl between his teeth.  He tilted it down, gently.  The mush oozed forward.  It was warm and _delicious_ – and it tasted like achievement. 

When he was done he licked his lips and eyed the drink.  It smelled good, tart and interesting, and it didn’t take him long to figure out a way to get at it.  He picked up his bowl and rinsed it in his sink – no easy feat backwards, poured the drink into it – _very_ difficult backwards, and repeated his bowl-tilting trick to drink it down.

When breakfast was over he felt prouder of himself than he had in a while.  Then, from somewhere dark and bitter the thought bubbled up: _You’re such a poor king that you’re more fit to kneel on the floor slurping food like an animal_.   The thought dimmed his pleasure quite a bit.

His pleasure dimmed further when he looked at the clock and realized that it was after noon already.  The day was half over.  Before too long it would be time to start tossing ineffectively in bed again.  And tomorrow the torture would start.

********************************

Over the course of the afternoon Loki began to need the toilet, but he weighed the cost to his pride and opted against shouting for the Drones and begging for help.  He sat with his legs crossed and refused to pay the problem attention.

By evening the need had grown uncomfortable, and by bedtime he was in pain.  He told himself he was tired enough to sleep anyway, and laid down on his floor to try.

It wasn’t even near possible.  Keeping pressure off sore shoulders _and_ a full bladder was beyond his power, and he knew almost as soon as he lay down that he was not going to last the night.  He seethed and glared in the semi-dark of his cell, and considered his options.

Asking for help was too humiliating – out of the question.  Pissing his pants was even further out of the question, and so that left either waiting for morning, which he knew he could not manage, or finding a way to use the toilet himself.

What he had on his legs were the tight sheathe trousers he wore underneath his armor.  They didn’t have fastenings in the front, for which he was very grateful, but they clung to him like a second skin and he wasn’t sure he would be able to get out of them without both hands free to roll them down his hips.

He _knew_ he wouldn’t be able to accomplish it without a lot of undignified wriggling and tugging and gyrating.   He would prefer nobody see that.  Even the Drones – whatever they were.

Would it be better to do it underneath a blanket?  No, if he did that they might think he was masturbating.  Given Odin’s concern that the Drones might rape him, it seemed unwise to draw their attention to sexuality of any kind.   It would be better to just undress out in the open.  Maybe if he did it quietly they wouldn’t notice.

He stood up, rolling his protesting shoulders to loosen them as best he could, and tucked his fingers into the back of his waistband.

Instantly the lights flared up to full power.  He squinted, waiting for his eyes to adjust.  He was hot and dizzy with hatred.  They were _watching_ this.  But his bladder was burning and he had no other options.

He kept his eyes squeezed closed and focused all his attention on his hands.  He slid them as far as they could go in either direction, breaking the seal between the material and his sweaty skin, biting his lip against the pain in his guts.   He should not have waited this long.  What if he couldn’t last the few minutes it would take to undress?

Unthinkable.  He inched the trousers down with his fingertips, bent forwards to create more space, inched them further.  He stood up and bent backwards, arching as hard as he could, pinching for the slick fabric at the backs of his thighs and hissing when he pinched too hard and got skin too.  He thrust his hips to one side and then the other, clenching his thighs together, inching further down.  Pinch.  Tug.  Wriggle.

He was making progress.  _Almost,_ he promised himself.  Almost.  He tried to use his feet, pushing one against his opposite calf, but the trousers stuck too tightly and wouldn’t slide.  He finally had to fall to his knees (his bladder almost exploded at the pressure), and lean backwards to get his fingers to his ankles.  He tugged, inch by inch, still using his hips side to side, past caring that people could see him struggling on the floor humping at nothing.  He was very, very nearly ready to beg.

Then his knee was emerging.  Now he could bring his legs into play, stand up and tug the trousers the rest of the way off with his feet.  His underpants were child’s play by comparison; he yanked at them and was too rough and heard them rip, but it didn’t matter. 

Bent over and limping he ran to the toilet, and sat down because he couldn’t see a feasible way of reaching his dick to aim it.  He rolled his hips and leaned forward – if he missed now and pissed all over the floor this would all have been for nothing. 

Success.

It wasn’t until he had emptied himself entirely that could manage to care that people had seen the whole thing.  And even then, one he _did_ care there wasn’t anything he could do about it immediately;  his guts were still twisting and cramping, and he was afraid to try to get up.

Once he was certain that his body was finished punishing him for his stubborn procrastination, he stood up and went to retrieve his clothing.  Underpants went on easily enough; he lay on his back and arched and worked them up with his hands.

The trousers were another story.  It took him twenty minutes to inch the cursed things up his legs, kneeling, then lying on his back on the bed kicking his feet up in the air, kneeling again, and finally standing to tug them wearily up those last few inches.

The acrobatics required by that whole exercise had completely worn him out.  His hands and wrists were sore and creaking, and his shoulders hurt so badly that even light pressure forced him to bite down on a groan.  There was no conceivable way to lie comfortably.  In the end he just sat on the floor against his bed, rested his head back on his pillow, and slept that way. 

It was not a very restful sleep, but by that point Loki would take what he could get.

***********************************************

TBC.

Oatmeal and orange juice, in case you’re wondering about Loki’s food.  I somehow got a kick out of feeding a captive God of Chaos a nice traditional balanced breakfast.

And yes: for research purposes I did in fact tie my hands and figure out a method of eating oatmeal neatly despite long hair.  The reason you need to fold up the napkin and place the bowl on it is that if the bowl rests just on the table itself, as you start to tip it it will slide, and you lose your grip on it and it falls.   The napkin-pad underneath lets it stay stable.  (It took me a few tries to think of this, but I think Loki’s clever enough to have come up with it right away.)  So, in case you’re ever tied up and need a way to eat oatmeal, now you know.

***********************************************


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New plan. The hit count for this story is pretty humongous. The odds that all of those people want to read graphic scenes of pain & terror are pretty slim, so I've decided to split the next few chapters up in a way that will allow the squeamish to skip the squeam. Those who skip the dungeon bits will have to use their imagination to explain why Loki is in such poor condition, but the story will still be comprehensible.
> 
> This chapter is dungeon. Skip it if you like; the aftermath, where Loki thinks and talks and maybe gets a visit from Thor, will be posted as a separate chapter. Possibly tonight, though more likely tomorrow.
> 
> A brief recap for those who missed it or are lazy about reading long author notes:
> 
> TORTURE WARNING.

**  
**

***************************************************

In the morning Drone One unbound Loki – achy, tired, cranky Loki – and then said: "Now please remove everything you're wearing."

Loki blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Strip naked."

His instinct was to hesitate, to refuse… but they could force the issue, he knew, and he would lose. The least he could do was deprive them of the pleasure of breaking him, and spare himself the indignity of having his clothes ripped off. "Of course," he purred. "Not quite as impressive as a naked Thor, but worth seeing, I promise you." He undressed quickly and without ceremony, and left everything in a heap on the floor.

He half-expected to be made to bend and pick it all up, and fold it like some kind of servant, but the Drone surprised him by bending to do it himself. That gave Loki courage enough to ask: "Will I be getting breakfast?" He hadn't had anything since yesterday morning's bowl ordeal, and he was famished.

"No."

"Well, I'm hungry. When will I next be fed?"

"After. We don't feed people before; they always vomit."

"Ah, I see." One gestured for Loki's hands and Loki gave them, again on the principle that it was better to cooperate than to be forced. When the invisible cuffs were applied, he didn't tug on them. "Now what?"

"This way." The Drone unlocked his cell and gestured for him to walk out.

There were more Drones in the hallway to escort them. Maybe because he had been starved of conversation for too long, or maybe because it was quite awkward to walk nude and silent amidst a crowd of armed guards, Loki finally spoke to one of them. "Hello there. My name is Loki. What's your name?"

It looked at him and shook his head.

"You don't talk at all, then? Your friends talk."

"I talk."

"Just not to me?"

"I am talking to you. And listening. You're Loki."

"That's right." Loki tried to make eye contact and give him a smile, but the Drone wouldn't look. Very well, if he couldn't make friends perhaps at least he could get some information. "What else do you know about me?"

"I know that this is your first time down the dungeons."

Loki nodded. "How do you know that?" he said, politely. Keep it talking. Where does their information come from? What sort of command center is there?

"Because you're walking all by yourself. Next time we'll drag you, kicking and screaming. The time after that, you'll have to be carried."

Loki couldn't help himself. He purred: " _Oooh,_  how dramatic, _"_ with a grin. "And the time after  _that_?" Never let it be said that he had missed an opportunity to be irreverent.

"I've never seen anybody last a fourth trip. Here we are." The Drone unlocked a room and nudged Loki inside.

***************************************************

There were  _things_ on the walls, racks of things, ominous things with spikes and blades and pincers. After one quick glance Loki knew that it was better not to look. He could see out of the corners of his eyes that there was furniture too, big old machines made of wood and chains and stained with old blood.  _Just for show,_  he told himself, and didn't look. He of all people knew how deceiving appearances could be.

They led him to a chair, a plain innocuous metal chair, but he noticed that it was bolted into the ground. No matter. He sat down as requested, let them use the binding rod to tie his feet down and fold his arms behind his back.

It was not an uncomfortable position, but Loki did not like being helpless. Or naked. Or in a torture chamber.

There was a short lull before anybody came to speak to him, and he found himself breaking his resolution not to look around. He was realizing that of all the chaos and death he'd seen and caused, he knew very little about actual, methodical torture. He'd always considered it too organized for his taste. Boring.

(Although, as the Drones moved around him setting up, he was anything but bored.)

A Drone he didn't recognize came in carrying a big pail, and set it on the floor. Loki heard liquid sloshing and wondered: hot oil? Acid? What could they possibly have in there that would break a god?

The new Drone produced a big drinking horn, and filled it from the bucket. He held it near Loki's face. "Morning, Loki. Drink."

Immediately he didn't  _like_ this Drone, and not just because it was apparently in charge of mistreating him. Most of the other Drones seemed blank, almost mindless, but this one… Drone Three, he decided… was smiling. It was  _enjoying_  itself.

He didn't want to cooperate. He tossed his head, turning away as far as he could. "No. What is it?"

The Drone laughed. "Not that it matters, because you'd take it regardless, but this is just water. Now drink. All of it."

"Thanks, but I'm not thirsty."

Drone Three beckoned over his shoulder, and was handed a pair of tongs. The tongs held a piece of glowing metal, and Loki could see the heat rising from it, shimmering in the air. The Drone didn't mention it, didn't even turn to  _look_  at it. He just said: "Drink."

Loki drank.

It took a while; the horn was enormous. He choked on a bout of inopportune laughter when he remembered watching Thor strain at this very task once on a stupid, stupid dare.

This horn didn't hold quite the whole sea, but it was big enough, and Loki had a new sympathy for his brother when he was done. The cold water was giving him a stomachache. He burped, and squirmed, and waited for it to settle. "If you wanted a drinking contest, you'd have been better off with Thor, you know," he suggested. "Did you ever hear about the time he…-" He fell silent when he saw that they were filling the horn again.

"Drink."

With that chunk of glowing metal in its other hand the Drone seemed very persuasive. Loki drank again, chugging it down as fast as he could, hoping the Drone would have a little patience when he needed to pause and catch his breath. When he was done he felt decidedly unwell.

And they were already filling it a third time.

He chuckled, bitterly. Knowingly. This would probably cost him a burn, but some things were more important than pain. "You were watching me last night," he guessed. "And you thought it was  _funny_. Are you hoping for a repeat performance? You won't get one. Go fuck yourselves."

Drone Three sighed and nudged the pail with his foot. "We're going to get this all into you, one way or another. If you won't drink it, then we'll flip you over and use a tube."

Loki followed its gesture and saw that among all the other horribles hanging on the wall were, in fact, a number of hoses and funnels. He weighed his options. It didn't take long; there were none. "That won't be necessary," he said, looking away from the wall and meeting Three's eyes with his best attempt at appeasement. "I'll drink."

The third horn was a longer ordeal, because he had to stop several times to wait out an urge to retch. He kept on, doggedly, hating the Drones but hating himself even more, this pitiful weak little body that rebelled at a simple order like  _swallow._  Without his magic he was truly contemptible.

When he was finally done he closed his eyes. "I'm going to vomit," he said, as calmly as he could. "And soon I will need a toilet."

"We'll take care of that in a minute." He wasn't surprised to feel the horn brushing against his cheek. "But first, once more."

His stomach was truly hurting. He wasn't sure how much water it was healthy to drink at a time, but he was sure he had long passed the mark. At the thought of taking more he gagged, and only avoided throwing up by the narrowest of margins. "Wait," he said, and pressed his lips together.

He'd forgotten about the metal. A quick burn on his knee made him cry out, and the horn was shoved into his mouth. Several hands grasped at his hair, his neck, his skull, holding him in place. He tried to keep from swallowing, but then someone squeezed his nose shut.

The primal need for air destroyed all capacity for thought. He struggled mindlessly, uselessly, until somebody pinched his ear hard and murmured into it: "Drink. Just one swallow. Swallow once."

Out of pure desperation he did as he was told, and amazingly, his nose was let free. He sucked in deep breaths one after the other. His heart was hammering so loudly he almost didn't hear the warning: "Now drink, or it will happen again."

He nodded frantically, as best he could against all the hands, and drew another mouthful from the horn. Another. And another. His stomach ached and he hesitated, but fingers ghosted over his nostrils. "Keep going."

He was  _trying,_  but sharp cramps made it very difficult. His leg was burned again. That made him shriek, but opening his throat let in a flood of water and for a moment he was certain that he was drowning. He choked, gasping and only managing to draw in more water. When he couldn't recover on his own the horn was eventually withdrawn, and the Drones waited without comment while great racking coughs brought liquid up out of his mouth and nose.

The coughing hurt badly. He tried to stop, but before he could recover all the way the horn was in front of his face again. "Drink, Loki. You did not finish."

"I can't," he protested, weakly. So weakly that a stern growl was enough to make him capitulate. He sipped slowly, squirming with every swallow, forcing himself to go on because he just didn't dare to stop. Periodically someone would touch his nose, to remind him, and he would squeak and gulp a little faster.

By the time he was done the water had at last made it to his bladder. "The toilet now." He tried not to beg. "You said."

"We said we'd take care of it," Drone Three agreed. Almost jolly. It stepped in front of him with the binding rod and Loki expected to be cut loose… but instead, Three bent to his lap and moved the rod over it. "There," it said. "It's taken care of. Now you don't need a toilet."

" _What_?" Loki strained at once but there was pressure all around his penis and  _he couldn't piss._  "No! That's not- No!"

"And you also wanted to vomit, didn't you? We'll take care of that too." The Drone reached into Loki's mouth, and before he could muster the presence of mind to bite it was scrubbing fingers over his tongue, to the back of his throat, and suddenly he was erupting like a geyser. Water shot out with unbelievable violence, out his mouth and up through his nose, and he was still choking and drowning long after it stopped.

Once the agonizing convulsions died down, the bindings holding Loki to the chair were all that kept him from falling over.

But the unbearable pressure of his overfilled stomach had eased somewhat, at least. He blew water and throatslime out of his nose, and tried to congratulate himself on surviving.

Drone Three interrupted his congratulations. "Ready for another drink?"

***************************************************

By the time it was finally over he was so ill he had to be dragged back to his room. They freed him to piss, which he did for longer than he ever had in his life, but even afterwards his belly looked so bloated he could almost pass for pregnant. It felt like someone had driven knives in. He tried to vomit, but he'd been forced so many times already today that his stomach had given up, and could not be made to heave. He collapsed in a boneless heap beneath the sink.

_This room is a place of safety, Loki._ He looked around, not sure if they'd said it aloud or if he was only remembering. Either way, he wanted to stay here. He hugged his toilet with both arms, resting his face against its cool smooth base, and waited to feel better.

Drone Three laughed. "Did you know Midgard calls that  _worshipping at the porcelain throne_?"

Loki wanted to tell him to fuck off, but he managed – with heroic effort – to keep quiet.

"We will wait for one hour, Loki," said Drone One. "Then we will take you back to the dungeons, to begin."

"Begin?" he rasped, and winced. He'd forgotten how sore his throat would be. "Begin what?"

Several of the Drones answered him at once. "Interrogation."

He clung to the toilet. "How about two hours. Or three."

***************************************************

TBC.

The other half of this chapter is light on violence and heavy on brain-picking. I'll hurry with it as fast as I can.

Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

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When it was time to return to the dungeons, they didn't exactly drag him kicking and screaming… but they did drag him. His legs didn't seem to want to walk in the proper direction. He kept stopping. Wincing. Falling against the walls. He mumbled  _I can't do this_  more times than he could count. When they ushered him in and he saw the chair and the bucket still sitting beside it he got dizzy, but the Drones led him away from it and over to a plain, ordinary table.

They bent him over the table, but they had him put his elbows down to take most of his weight. They sealed them there, and let him pillow his head in his arms. The position was the most comfortable he'd rested in in days.

Then Drone Three patted him on the back and said: "Afternoon, Loki." Someone hiked his robe up over his hips. He tried not to panic.

"No tube," he insisted, breathless. "I'll drink, I told you."

Three laughed. "Don't you think you've had enough to drink for one day?" he said. "This is something different."

Loki should be rejoicing that there would be no more water. Instead he was feeling sick with apprehension, even sicker than before. "What?"

Drone One spoke up from somewhere beside him. "This is interrogation, Prince Loki. This first time will not be harsh. You will simply learn the way of it, to prepare you. Then, tomorrow, you will be questioned very rigorously."

"But… not today?" Loki said, hopeful. He would worry about tomorrow when it came.

"Not today." Three took over. "Tomorrow, if you don't answer, or if you lie, then horrible things will happen. Today nothing so horrible. Only this."

He heard a whistle and a  _crack,_ and a moment later came a terrible flash of pain just below his knees.

He jerked and kicked reflexively. He yelped. After the pain crested and started to ebb he demanded: "What was that?"

Something tickled over his calf, just below the hurt. "Only a cane. A silly little thing, used for minor crimes of minor mortals. First question: do you prefer chocolate cake, or vanilla?"

"What?" he gasped. He was struck again – harder, or maybe his breathless panic only made it seem that way _._ It was a line of bright fire, across his thighs this time.

"Chocolate or vanilla, Prince Loki?"

"Ch-chocolate!" he sputtered. "What kind of question is that? That  _hurt_ , give me a moment…"

"What color is Thor's battle armor?"

"Thor's battle armor?" he echoed, talking as fast as he could. "Red, it's red. Silver armor with a red cape. And, and there's dark grey accents to it too, and brownish when it gets bloodstains, yes and I think that's all the colors. Yes. That's all I can remember. Don't strike me again."

"Calm yourself, Loki," Drone One said over him. "All you have to do is answer promptly and with honesty."

"Yes. I know. I know," he panted, half to himself, trying for calm.

"Have you ever desired your friend the Lady Sif?"

"That is none of your-  _AH_!"

The question was repeated. This time Loki answered it. "Yes of course I have, we all have, anybody with a working cock desires Sif. I'm  _sorry_. Of course I never said anything to her about it." It was  _stupid_ not to have spoken up immediately. He steeled himself not to resist the next question – whatever it was.

"Who is your father?"

"I am the son of Odin-… No! No, wait, don't. I'm not. I'm not, all right? My father was Laufey, a fucking frost-giant. A monster." He had corrected himself to tell the miserable truth, so he was taken completely by surprise when another stroke lit up his legs. " _No!_ " he cried. "You little- I fixed it! I  _told_ you! I'm sorry!" The injustice, as well as the pain, made his eyes water. Also he had jerked hard enough to crush his aching stomach against the table, and he felt sick. He was in no way ready to field the next question…

But it came anyway. "How old were you when you first kissed a girl?"

His mind scrambled to produce the information before the hurt came.

************************************

All in all it was an enlightening experience. Now he knew what they meant by  _interrogation_ : make him hurt and exhausted – weak – and pepper him with questions, some pointless, others embarrassing, and a few truly significant. He wondered whether he would be able to deceive effectively under those conditions. He had not yet dared to try.

Enlightenment had come at a price though; they'd hit hard enough to raise thick welts and then hard enough to burst some of them. Below the waist Loki was all striped with neat parallel cane lines, and ticklish trickles made their way down his legs, blood mingled with sweat – horrid,  _stinging_  sweat.

When they finally released him and he tried to straighten up off the table, he almost broke his resolution not to cry. They had lifted his feet at times to beat him on his soles, and the prospect of putting his weight down and walking represented more pain than he thought he could handle.

"Do you want to be carried?" one of the Drones asked, neutrally. Even helpfully. But Loki flinched.

"Don't touch me!" he spat, wishing he had something – magic, friends, a weapon,  _something_  with which to enforce his will. "Stay away."

"As you wish. Can you walk?"

He shook his head, unwilling to even try.

"Then, crawl."

He dropped down at once; his pride might sting a little, but his legs stung worse. It was the right choice. He made it back to his room silently and with about as much dignity as he could pretend to after the way the day had gone so far. When he was safe inside he made himself stand, and the Drones gave him a nice soft robe to put on.

They brought food for him… but then out came the binding rod. Loki stepped away. "Let me eat first," he said. "You might as well. If I spill everywhere you're the ones who will have to clean it up."

They gestured for his hands.

"I… it would be a great kindness to me," he tried, with his best look of pathetic entreaty. "I wouldn't forget it."

They reached for him anyway.

"Wait- you can't! My father said you're not to humiliate me for no reason," he remembered in a rush. "And there is no reason for this."

Those, miraculously, were the magic words. The Drones exchanged glances and then shrugged. "So eat."

Loki limped carefully over to his table and knelt to examine his dinner. Bread, potato, some plain chicken. He was  _starving,_ but wasn't sure he could handle this.  _Slowly,_ he told himself.  _Small bites, rest in between, stop if there's pain._  He took his time, and his guards showed no signs of impatience. When he had finally eaten all he could keep down – which was not much – he thanked them politely and then crossed his wrists without being told.

But instead of binding him right away they gestured to a spout and drain he hadn't even noticed in the corner. "Would you like to clean yourself too?"

He felt sticky all over. Going days without magic was really a filthy business, and he limped over to the shower before they could change their minds.

He stood under the warm water for a long time, groaning, soaping himself lethargically and mostly just enjoying the freedom and the soothing heat on his sore body. The Drones didn't disturb him, but eventually, not wanting to push his luck, he stepped out anyway. They handed him a small jar. "When you go home your father will likely magick you back to health," Two explained, "but we don't know when that will be. In the meantime, this will keep your wounds clean and speed their healing."

"Many thanks. Honestly." He rubbed the ointment in, flinching at the ugly feel of ridges across the backs of his legs. It reminded him too much of  _them,_ their blue patterned skin, and suddenly he wanted to claw his own skin all off. He threw his robe on as fast as possible to hide the mess he was, and waited meekly for his bondage.

They had him clasp his hands behind his head, and sealed them there. "Sleep well, Loki." It did not sound like a pleasantry, but a warning. "You will need to be rested tomorrow."

************************************   


Once they were gone he grit his teeth and lay down on his bed. The salve did help, but still, it was not pleasant to lie on welts and bruises. It was even less pleasant to roll on them though, and so once he found a comfortable position on his back he resolved to stay put until morning.

The lights were still bright. He stared at the ceiling and wondered what he was supposed to be doing. It took him longer than it should have to realize he was probably supposed to be doing exactly that: wondering. Thinking. Repenting.

He wasn't quite ready to start repenting, but he  _was_  ready to analyze the things he had said today, and reassure himself that he hadn't let slip anything terrible under the torture. So many of the questions had been meaningless, but there was one exchange…

_"Would you really have paid Thor's mortal woman a visit?"_

_"What? OW! Wait WAIT – I just didn't understand the question, you imbecile! A visit?"_

_"While you were trying to kill your brother, you told him-"_

_"Ho. Stop. I was not trying to kill my brother. AH! I wasn't! AAH – OW! I swear I was not. I wasn't! Stop _–_  what's the point of questioning me if you won't even hear the truth when I tell it?"_

_"We will discuss Thor later, Loki, have no fear. For now, answer the question. Would you really have paid the mortal woman a visit after your brother was dead?"_

_"After…? If my brother had been killed, I would have destroyed anyone who had the tiniest part in it, all of Midgard included, so: yes, I suppose that would qualify. But if you're asking whether I was telling Thor my actual plans or just trying to rile him, well I'll leave you to guess that one. Can you really be as stupid as you look?"_

Loki winced, remembering. That had set off the worst of the caning. He'd been hit over and over and over again until he finally cooperated and howled  _No I wouldn't have_  and  _I wouldn't have hurt her!_  Afterwards he'd had a bit of a break, which was a good thing because he had been feeling too stunned and… yes, he could admit it here where no one heard him… too  _hurt_ to go on thinking very carefully. Who came  _up_ with these questions? What exactly did they think he had planned to do?

He tried to imagine skittering down to Earth and walking into the woman's home. He couldn't – it would never happen. Well… all right, maybe it would. Maybe he would appear to her as Thor and fuck her better than Thor ever had, and then rub Thor's face in it afterwards. He couldn't suppress a smile at the idea.  _That_ , he might do. Or, maybe he would appear as Thor and end their romance instead, with words like  _ugly mortal cow._  So, he supposed that  _No I wouldn't have_  wasn't exactly the truth after all, which was maybe why they'd kept beating him until he came up with the rest.

He sighed. He ought to have words with Thor about all that; if Thor really believed that the woman was in danger, then he was an idiot. But he  _didn't,_ Loki was certain of it. Once he calmed down he would realize that Loki had only been picking a fight. It was a conversation they had had many times over the years:  _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Loki, I wasn't thinking. You said… and I just… I believed you, I'm sorry._  So many times.  _They don't call me the Liesmith for nothing, Thor._

Actually, today was more truth than Loki had told anyone in recent memory. He hoped that his ordeal would end soon before he lost one of his favorite titles.

(And that was  _all_  he was thinking about, was his title.)

(The Drones' talk about the horrible things that awaited tomorrow didn't even enter his head.)

(Neither, of course, did Odin's comment about  _the lies he tells himself_.)

(Really.)

************************************   


In the morning he was shaken awake. "Loki." It was Drone Two, who freed him and helped him sit up very, very slowly. His whole body was stiff and sore.

"You have a visitor," Two told him. "Your brother."

"I don't want to see him," Loki said at once.

"You should see him anyway. After today you won't be in a fit state for visitors for quite a while."

Loki shuddered. He didn't really want to know, but… "What's going to happen today?"

Drone Three appeared in the doorway. "Today you're going to say hello to your brother, and then you're going to come down to the dungeons and cry like a baby."

Suddenly the idea of Thor by his side was not nearly so unappealing. Thor would never allow him to be bullied like this. "Let him in."

Thor came in looking enormous, exuberant… and so magical that it hurt. What Loki wouldn't give for just a fraction of that power now…

"Loki, my brother! How do you fare?"

Loki stood, slowly. "I have been better. But it's good to see you." He remembered, suddenly, his own visit to Thor during Thor's exile. If Thor had come for some sort of payback… He turned away, arms crossed, almost hugging himself. "Why did you come?"

"I only wanted to be sure that-… Loki?" A heavy, hesitant step. "What have they done to you?"

"What?" Loki faced him. He was  _certain_ that no injury was visible; he would never have allowed Thor to see him if he looked as destroyed as he felt. "What are you talking about? I'm fine."

Thor was pointing down towards his ankles. Oh. He supposed some marks were visible below the hem of his robe. "That is nothing," he said, meaning it. He gathered the robe tighter around him; if Thor saw the rest he would explode. "Honestly. If you fret I'll make you leave. Now come, sit with me. How are Father and Mother?"

They sat down on the bed, side by side, and Thor did not ask about the stiff and painful way Loki moved. Unusually tactful. Perhaps Midgard had really done him some good.

"They are well. They would be better if you were with us."

"Or if I were gone entirely."

"Pssh. They only want you back," Thor insisted. "No more of this talk of dying, brother. I won't allow it. Are you eating enough? You don't look well."

All of a sudden Thor was exhausting. His boyishness, his confidence, his concern, sapped Loki faster than anything else would have. From somewhere he found a smile and reached for Thor's hand. "Thank you for coming, brother. But you should go now – this cell is no place for you."

Thor squeezed. "Could I stay with you today?" he asked, quiet. "While whatever happens, happens? Surely it is better not to be alone."

Loki could hardly imagine how miserable it would be to be tortured in front of Thor, to  _kill_ himself trying to stay strong in Thor's eyes. Trying and failing, of course. As always.

He nodded to the doorway, where a number of Drones stood waiting. "Oh, I'm not alone. I have these fine people for company." Thor looked properly uneasy, and Loki met his eyes with all the sincerity he could fake. "Go. I'd rather not annoy them by delaying."

"Yes of course." Thor stood up right away. "I will talk to Father again. This cannot be the best way to help you."

"Help me?" Loki couldn't swallow down a burst of bitter laughter. "Is that what we're calling it now? Go, Thor. Don't make me tell you what really goes on here."

"I'll talk to Father," Thor repeated.

"Talk  _politely,_ " Loki said. "Try not to make him banish you again."

Thor looked pained. "How can you  _joke_?"

"When do I not? Go."

************************************  


**TBC.**

**Fyi, Loki is not the only one suffering to make the story happen. I've been running on 2-3 hours of sleep _every night this week_ to make time for this thing, which probably explains the confused and nightmarish quality of its content. But you guys are awesome, and your encouragement makes it worthwhile. I'm glad you're enjoying (and/or horrified)!**

**As always, let me know what you think. And also: get ready for tomorrow's chapter; it's a doozie. If you're even remotely squeamish, you should probably skip.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TORTURE WARNING. This is a bit bloody and very brutal, even for me. I actually had a hard time writing it. Don't try this at home.

 

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They had him strip before limping back to the dungeons again. Now he was  _very_ glad he had sent Thor away; it was easy to ignore his pride and his station among these strange hateful creatures he did not know, but every sigh and every glance from Thor would be a secret reproach:  _how could you let them do this to you_?

He went slow and kept his head bowed, making no effort to quiet his harsh breathing or hide his pain. The more broken they already thought he was, the less they would likely do to him now.

When they reached the dungeons, instead of taking him over to one of the awful machines, they let him stand free in the center of the room. Drone One said: "Open your mouth, prince."

Loki did just the opposite, closing his mouth tightly and questioning with an eyebrow.

Drone Three chuckled and gripped his jaw hard, squeezing until it fell open. With its other hand it reached in, just one finger, and stroked gently. "Here's that silver tongue."

Loki jerked his head free. "Just flesh and blood. Sorry to disappoint."

"No,  _I_ am sorry. This will go hard with flesh and blood." Three turned and picked up something that clanked. It was an oblong rounded thing, metal, with a key protruding from one end. "Do you know what this is?"

Three's mockery brought out all his most uncooperative instincts. "No, but please enlighten me, I'm always eager to learn."

"Open your mouth and you will."

Not particularly in the mood to eat a weapon, Loki pressed his lips together.

The Drone squeezed again, and banged the thing against Loki's face so hard it cut his lip against his teeth. To escape that Loki opened his mouth, stupidly, and let the device in. It ground against his teeth, a terrible sound, spread his jaws wide, and went back so far he nearly gagged on it.

"Ouw," he protested, trying to toss his head. But the other Drones held him still.

"This is called a  _pear,_ " Three explained. Loki crossed his eyes and saw that the key was all that protruded from his mouth, and before he could figure out what it did Three grasped it and turned.

" _Ouw!_ " he yelped again. The thing had  _expanded,_  digging into the roof of his mouth, crushing his tongue down, stretching his jaws so far they ached. "Ngo. Ahs oo ig." Too big by now to spit out.

Three laughed. "Are you trying to  _talk_ , prince? Clearly you don't understand the way of this at all."

Loki snarled at him, wordlessly.

"Relax now, I'd hate to break your face this quickly." Three reached for the key again and turned it further. It felt like his head was being ripped in half. Fighting only made it worse though, so Loki tried to relax into the stretch, but it still hurt so much he broke out in a sweat and heard himself whimpering. Already.

"And once more," Three said, and turned the key again. Pain speared through his skull like a blow from Thor's hammer. He waited a moment to get used to the feeling, but even after the first fiery shock faded his jaw felt locked, paralyzed, and he tasted blood. He was breathing through his nose, hard and fast. The pear was threatening to cut off his air entirely.

Drone One assured: "Be calm, I will not turn it again," before taking hold of the handle, so Loki didn't fight. But then the Drone pulled upward, forcing Loki's head back, and treated the thing like a very painful leash with which to lead the prisoner around the room. Rather than risk losing teeth Loki went where he was led, until he was finally walked into some sort of thigh-high obstruction.

"The table," Two explained from behind him. "Bend down."

Not  _this_ again. As if he wasn't bruised enough already!

He let them bind his torso down to the tabletop, because what choice did he have, and then noticed with not much joy that Three had wheeled over a cart of frightening-looking implements that did not include a cane. Then what were they going to do? Already he had had more than enough – his mouth hurt, and there was a headache of epic proportions pounding through his skull. He wanted to go back home to his cell. Now, please.

"Have you really never seen a pear before?" Drone Three asked, holding up another one. This one was bigger, easily twice as long and of alarming girth, and as much as he hurt Loki still felt great relief that they had given him the smaller one instead. "This is how it works." The Drone turned the key a little with his fingers, and Loki saw that the pear was made of sections, like petals, which spread apart just a little at each rotation. Then it gave the key a big spin, and the pear  _opened,_ all the way, like an ugly metal flower or a slow-motion grenade. When it was fully spread it was nearly the size of his head, and Loki realized that if they opened one that far while it was in his mouth, they would kill him.

He squeaked and squeezed his eyes shut. They  _wouldn't,_  he told himself. They would not.

"Bind him more thoroughly," Drone One said.

He felt hands on his legs, urging them apart, wider than was comfortable. His ankles were secured to the table legs, and now he was stuck beyond all hope of moving.

"Loki." Drone Three was still holding the larger pear, the one Loki was thanking his stars they were not using. "This one does not go in your mouth."

Someone laid a hand on his hip. Squeezed.  _Then_ he got it, and he started struggling frantically against his bindings, shrieking around the metal in his mouth, cutting himself on it until the spit he was spraying turned bloody.

"Prince Loki." Drone One. Drone One, quiet and formal, had never yet proposed anything that would kill him. He tried to quiet down and listen, but he was nearly hysterical. "We will use the other pear to interrogate you," it explained. "For that you will need to speak. Please hold still, and we will remove what is in your mouth."

Loki made himself hold still. The bone-deep pain in his jaws had ceased to concern him now that such worse things were at stake, and he hardly cared whether they chose to relieve him of it or not. But speech… that would be important. It was his best chance. Right now his only chance. He held still, even craned his neck so that they could get at the key more easily. They turned it slowly, shrinking the dreadful device bit by bit, closing it down until it could be tugged from between his lips amidst a gush of bloody drool.

He tried to spit the blood out onto the tabletop, but his face hurt so badly he couldn't make the motions necessary to spit. He just drooled. "Hleathe."  _Fuck,_  he couldn't even talk. He tried to work his jaw around, but it would not cooperate. He recalled an ugly popping sound that had happened in the midst of his screaming, and wondered if he had done himself real damage.

A Drone grabbed his face, roughly, and dug fingers into his cheeks. Assessing, aligning… massaging almost. The pain was terrible, but when it was over he found his mouth would move more or less the way he wanted it to. Painfully, but it moved. "Please," he tried again, and it came out much better this time. "You can't.  _Don't._ "

Even as he said it there were hands on his buttocks, spreading him apart. He had no time to convince them. No time even to think of how to try. He felt something wet and cold, and fought the instinct to tense up. Without any further pause or warning they set the pear against him and shoved.

It tore him, with pain so sharp and spearing that at first he didn't even notice invasion into his body. Eventually the shock of entry subsided though, and  _then_ he noticed; the pressure of a huge metal device distending his bowels was unbearable.

His bloody lips were pressed together but he wasn't silent; every breath was a throaty  _MMMN_  he could do nothing to control.

One of the Drones said: "Give him a moment. Then we ask questions." They all withdrew a step or two.

Loki tried to breathe deep and relax, but the pain was beyond anything he'd ever felt and he could not make it manageable. "Please, it's too much," he panted at last. "Please take it out. I can't." His whole body was cramping. His teeth hurt, he was trying to grit them together but his face would not do as it was told. He was awash with pain and had no idea how to make it better.

"Loki. Does your brother fight left- or right-handed?"

Loki just moaned. He couldn't, he  _couldn't_  handle questions. He couldn't handle anything.

He felt vibration through his insides, realized someone was taking hold of the key, and started to shout well in advance of the pear's expansion. The key turned, he screamed instead of answering, and after a moment it turned again.

Then they waited for him to get hold of himself. "Focus. Answer and save yourself," Drone Two urged. "Does your brother fight with his left hand, or his right?"

Loki closed his eyes.  _Focus._ "His right," he whispered, floating on a cloud of agony. He couldn't feel his arms and legs. All he knew was the terrible force crushing him from within.

"Good. What color is the cloak you wear in battle?"

"Green."

"How many eyes does the Allfather have now?"

"One."

And so on. It was a while before he realized that the questions were all easy, lulling, and still a while after  _that_ before he had the spirit to do anything but answer them.

"How many legs does a horse have?"

He felt an urge to say:  _Depends on the horse._  But he caught himself in time, and answered, "Four," and hoped that the momentary hesitation would not cost him.

They didn't comment on the return of his wits, but they did notice it. At once the questions grew less innocuous. "Have you ever failed to please a bed partner?"

"Um. Yes – when I was drunk. At least a few times when I was drunk. Never when I was sober – that I know of."

"Has Thor ever tickled you until you were forced to beg mercy?"

"Yes. How-? Fuck you for knowing."

"Tell us more."

"He-, when we were children, he did it in front of our friends, is that what you want to hear?" he snarled. In case it wasn't enough he went on. "That he humiliated me in front of everyone? That it shamed me, made me angry? That I got revenge for it one day, when I learned a spell that made his cock stand up in the middle of training so that nobody wanted to wrestle with him, and he  _cried_ because he thought there was something wrong with him, and I comforted him and made a very caring brotherly face when all I wanted to do was  _laugh,_ is that what you want to hear?"

"Do you believe that your brother loves you?"

"Thor is an idiot." His tongue had run away with him.

Pain erupted in his bowels.

"Not an answer. Do you believe that your brother loves you?"

He couldn't think through the cramping. It was like an iron fist had taken hold of his innards and squeezed. "Stop,  _stop_ it!"

That wasn't an answer either, and they cranked again. He almost didn't hear as they asked a third time: "Do you believe that Thor loves you, or not? Answer the question."

He pulled his scattered wits together just in time and cried  _YES_ , and they did not turn the key again. " _Yes,_ he does, all right, Thor loves me, please, please for the sake of all that's holy please stop." Black spots were dancing in his vision. "Mercy. No more.  _Mercy._ "

"How many pillows do you keep on your bed?"

"What-? Two, four, six," he counted aloud. "Six, I have six. Please stop. Please – a moment, I need a moment. Please. Mercy – I don't know. I don't know anything. I can't answer anything. Please."

He felt a dull jarring that said someone had placed a hand on the key. He started to whimper.

But the next question was easy: "Have you ever had anything this large put into your body before?"

"No!" he spat. "For fuck's sake of course not! Do you think I have a death wish?"

"Why did you bring frost-giants into Asgard on the day of your brother's first coronation?"

Loki's mind froze. "I-…"

The key turned – just a little, just enough to freshen his agony. "Why did you bring the frost-giants, Loki?"

"I, I don't know," he wailed. Hysterical. "Please don't, please,  _I don't know_!"

"Loki." The key turned, hard.

"I swear, I swear it, I swear I don't know!" He didn't know a single thing beyond that he was being torn apart.

"Don't know what, Loki?" a Drone asked, near his ear. "Do you even remember the question?"

"Thor, Thor, something about Thor! Oh,  _please_ …" He knew as he said it that it wasn't the answer, but he couldn't think, and he just lay still and sobbed with abandon and waited to be ripped.

A long time passed, and though the pain was awful it did not get worse. In fact, when his mind collected a little he could feel that nobody was touching the key at all.

"Loki? Answer."

He drew in a shuddering breath. "Please, what was the question?" he whimpered.

"The frost-giants," a Drone prompted, softly. "Why did you bring them?"

"Because I wanted to spoil Thor's special day." There – that wasn't so hard.

But then, to his vast dismay somebody took hold of the key and jiggled it. "That is a lie, Loki Odinson." Drone Three. He recognized the voice, it was Drone Three, the one who boded no good at all. "If you lie again I'll crank this open good and hard, and then I'll fuck you with it. Do you understand?" A light tug on the pear convinced Loki that he wouldn't survive even the most cursory attempts to make good on that threat. " _Do_ you?"

"Yes. Yes."

"Will you tell the truth?"

" _Yes,_ I swear. Please. Please don't."

"Why did you bring the frost-giants? Do. Not. Lie." Punctuated with tugs. Each one drew a yelp.

Loki tried hard to think. He couldn't. His mind was a blank. All he knew was that any second, any  _second_ they were going to kill him…

A loud  _thump_  on the table by his head drew his attention. He focused his eyes. It was an hourglass.

Drone Two – formerly his favorite! – leaned down into his line of vision, and said: "You have one hour, Loki. Know the truth by then, and tell it to us. Or we'll wind that thing until it guts you."

The Drones left the room.

***********************************************

TBC.

Sorry for the cliffhanger! During the next chapter, Loki moves deep into bag-of-cats territory. For those of you who wanted to see him lose it… here it comes.

Again, thank you guys so much for your comments! I really enjoy seeing other people's perspectives.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And here's what happens when a crazy sorcerer is pushed to the edge.

Loki watched sand fall in the hourglass. He was breathing fast and hard, through his nose. He tried not to take deep breaths, because there was such pressure inside his body that even expanding his lungs hurt.

He wanted to die. He wanted out. He wanted  _something,_  an end, and couldn't even put his mind together enough to know how to wish for one, or how to make it happen.

His instinct was to use his powers. Oddly though, when he reached for them, there was nothing there. He closed his eyes and tried harder. Still nothing. He tried to breathe, and  _focus,_  and pull himself out of where he was and put himself somewhere else.

He felt an odd pull, a snapping, and suddenly he thought he might have succeeded. He opened his eyes…

… And realized he was standing, upright and uninjured, next to the table. He was in his full armor. Even his helmet.

The panting wreck on the table, though, was still there. Still bound and bleeding. Staring at him with wild eyes.

"Can you see me?" he asked, waving to it. He didn't think so.

On some level he knew that the wreck on the table  _was_ him _,_ that he was going to be drawn back into that horror eventually, but for the moment it felt perfectly natural and perfectly real to prowl around the table in this glorious new form instead.

He wished he could just run off and leave himself, but he sensed that that would be a mistake. Probably death. Instead he walked around behind, distantly curious as to what the damage might look like up close. What did it  _look_ like, to be gutted?

The wreck was standing on its tiptoes, tense all over, muscles and tendons taut and straining. Loki squatted down between the spread legs to look closer. Some cane marks were still visible, dark red lines against white white skin. Others had faded, into mottled yellow-and-purple patches that would become blanket bruising in time. The places that had bled were scabbing, and he wondered whether they would heal without a mark.

Eventually he turned his attention to the real problem: the protruding metal handle of the pear. For a moment he felt only fascination; he remembered the impossible size of the thing when the Drone had shown it to him, and now the  _whole entire_  device was hidden inside, swallowed up in his body – which was bleeding and open, like a wound.

He'd wondered about the blood, actually; while being beaten yesterday he had been acutely aware of every drop that oozed down his legs, but today he had felt very little blood, even though he  _knew_ the metal was cutting him up inside. Now he saw why: blood was moving down the key, dripping neatly off it, forming a puddle on the floor between his feet. He assessed the puddle critically, and the pace of the dripping, and decided that the cuts must be shallow – he had not yet been dealt a wound from which he could not recover.

Which meant, of course, that the Drones would be able – and willing, surely – to cut him further.

He remembered, vaguely and from far away, what it had felt like to scream for mercy and be refused. He would not want to put himself (any version of himself!) in that position again. "Don't worry, I'll figure this out," he murmured, and stood up. He meant to give a reassuring pat on the wreck's lower back, but as he did, a terrific pain shot through him and he had the disorienting impression, all of a sudden, that  _he was_ the corpse-to-be on that table, that someone had touched  _his_  back, and that because he was all stretched and swollen inside the touch was unimaginable agony. He removed his hand.

(Again, for half a second there was a flash of what it  _felt_ like, half a second where the hourglass was before  _his_  eyes and  _he_  was the one lying there on that blood-and-sweat streaked table watching his time run out. Then, thankfully, the flash was gone.)

He moved away and stepped into the broken Loki's line of vision. "I want to help you," he said. The creature's lips moved, and he heard the voice in his mind:  _I am you. This is you._

"Stop it. Don't be silly. Come on, let's think. Here – get rid of this thing." He went up to the hourglass and tried to push it over. The first time, his hand passed right through it. The second time, after a deep breath and a massive effort of the will, he knocked it down. "There. No pressure now. Let's think. What do we need to know?"

 _Why did you let in the frost-giants_? Ah, yes, that was the question. Loki steepled his fingers under his chin and thought about it.

"I don't know," he said at last. "I was angry." He could remember the anger, all right, the petty prickly feeling that arose whenever Thor glowed over the plans for his ceremony. "I was envious. I didn't want Thor to have a nice day. I wanted to ruin it."

_You said that already. You said it, and it was a lie._

Loki frowned. "Well, then help me think," he snapped… but there was no answer, and judging by the wild, vacant stare there wasn't going to be one any time soon.

Out of frustration he concentrated and cast another copy of himself. For some reason that he didn't understand (didn't let himself understand), it was physically painful to do so and it also made the victim on the table give a short, rasping groan.

"Thanks," he murmured, and smiled at his shiny new twin. "Do  _you_ have any ideas? Did I really want to ruin Thor's day?"

"Of course not," his twin answered at once. "Can you imagine how distraught he would have been? You didn't want to  _ruin_  the day, you wanted to…"

A voice spoke up from behind him. "To be part of it." Loki looked and tried not to feel surprised that  _another_ twin was standing there, smiling a lost and guileless smile. "I just wanted to be important."

Loki turned back to the double he had created, the one he  _trusted._  (Not that one should ever trust the god of lies. But it would be doubly-stupid to trust an  _unknown_ version of the god of lies, wouldn't it.) "Do you think that's right?" he asked. "And, where did  _he_  come from?"

"I don't know," his double said, "But you're killing  _him._ " He pointed to the table, where tortured wrecked-up Loki's breaths had gone shallow and jerky.

"I'm not," Loki protested.

"Yes, you are. Go back there, or we're all going to die!"

"Hurry," added the third one, the sweet one, from behind him. "There's two more over here and they don't look friendly."

Thatidea was so insane that Loki turned around, and saw that indeed his triplet had multiplied, into copies that were sinister and grinning. "You know, if you don't go back in there, we can  _all_  die," one suggested.

The other laughed. "Let's. Thor would hate that."

" _I_ would fucking hate that!" snarled his twin, his  _real_ twin, the one he'd created on purpose. "Pull yourself together!"

Loki tried to ask him how on earth he was supposed to do that, but then a different Loki threw a punch, and suddenly a number of them were brawling. "How?" he shouted into the chaos, but then realized that he didn't  _need_  to ask; anything the twin knew he must also know, somewhere, himself.

He looked the victim over. Its eyes were rolling back. That didn't look good. It was still breathing, and sweat was still running down its spine...

He remembered, suddenly, what touching its back had done.  _Yes._ Pain was the key.

Heh – the key. He ran over, took half a second to steel himself and mentally apologize to all the various Lokis that were going to hate him for this, and jerked on the handle of the pear.

Pain. His.

************************************

TBC.

Yikes. These last two chapters are probably be the goriest I've ever written. I'm so sorry.

Next chapter will contain Thor/Loki cuddles.  And a bit of Odin (but no cuddles from him.) 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your comments. You've already influenced the course of story quite a bit. When it's all done I might post a quickie synopsis of the originally-intended plot, which is way not how the story is now going. It's so much fun to see this thing unfold.

**********************************

"Father, they nearly killed him!"

"He nearly killed himself. He tried to conjure when he knew perfectly well he could not; the exertion was too much and he lapsed into a sleep. I have done as much myself, and I know where the blame lies."

"Loki didn't choose this."

"No. I did. For which I will make no apologies – I stripped him of his magic as best I could, but he very nearly managed to make magic anyway. Loki is very powerful, Thor, more powerful than anyone knew. If I did not take him in hand now, who knows whether-"

"Take him in hand? Like a disobedient puppy! You've done more than  _take him in hand,_  Father, look at him. I hope you're satisfied."

"Enough. Do you think I enjoy seeing my son so sick and battered?"

"I think that if you didn't, you'd get that sorcerer back in here to finish what he started. Or better yet, you'd give Loki his own powers back so that he could heal himself."

"Loki was leeching magic from that sorcerer. Every bit of healing gave him more than just his health, it gave him power, and I'm not yet ready to have him returned to his strength. You must trust me, Thor. Your brother has a great deal of anger..."

"Ho, does he? I can't imagine why."

"...But I know he also has a great deal of love for you. I need to know which runs deeper before I can let him come home."

"Do you have to nearly kill him again to find that out? Why don't you just ask?"

"I intend to."

**********************************

Loki awoke confused, to bright lights and cold metal. He was lying flat, trying to remember a half-heard conversation that might have been a dream. He stirred.

"Shh," someone soothed from far away. "Just rest. Relax. Don't speak."

When he thought about trying to speak, through the fog of his numbness came a deep, dull throbbing in his mouth. He mumbled.

Someone said: "We should wire that jaw shut now."

 _No._  His words were all, all he had, and the horror of losing them galvanized Loki enough to actually move. Despite the heavy chemical stupor, he summoned up the strength to throw an arm up and strike out in the voice's general direction.

**********************************

When he awoke a second time, his entire face was frozen in place. He wanted to shout, but his mouth would not open, and the effort it took to even open his eyes almost wore him out again. He began to struggle, meaning to reach up and see what gag or witchery was keeping him silent, but as soon as he started moving someone pounced on him and held him down.

"Hush, hush, brother, all is well." He recognized Thor.

How could all be well? Had they cut out his tongue? He couldn't feel it; his entire mouth felt thick, stuffed, immobile.  _No_.

He made noises in his throat, panicky animal noises, and Thor began to stroke hair off his forehead as if he were a child. "Loki. Can you hear me? I know you must feel strange, but it's all right, these are healers. They have done you no harm, I swear it. I have not left your side."

Loki blinked rapidly and growled.  _I want to talk_!

Thor looked oddly careworn. Weary. Well, perhaps he really  _had_ been keeping vigil. Loki knew better than most what a few sleepless nights would do to a person, even to a god.

"The healers said that you were frightened the last time you awoke, but I tell you now, there is nothing to cause you alarm. Do you understand?" Once Loki nodded, Thor turned and called over his shoulder: "My brother has his wits about him now. Come and explain what you have done."

Someone approached his bed, someone small and dull-looking and clad all in white.

"You had lacerations in your mouth," the healer began. "We closed a lot of them chemically; they weren't very large or very deep. Only one needed stitches, and you might feel the knots poking into your cheek when the feeling returns. Sorry about that. I know your impulse is going to be to worry it with your tongue, but try not to."

Thor patted his shoulder. "Did you follow that?"

Yes, that much he followed. He nodded, and made noises in his throat again.  _Why can't I talk?_

"We also had to wire your jaw shut while it heals," came the voice again. "I know it's a terrible inconvenience, I'm sorry. And, lastly, the corners of your mouth were cut pretty badly, where it's visible, so I called in a plastic surgeon to make sure the stitches are done well. There are stitches in your top lip on the left, and in your bottom lip on both sides. It's important you leave them alone and don't pull on them, to minimize the chances of scarring. That's why you're all taped closed right now. You'll have to communicate through notes for a little bit."

Loki raised a hand and made a motion of writing in the air. At once the healer handed him and pad and scrambled to search for a pen. Loki grew impatient, as his question was important, so he magicked words onto the page with his fingers.  **Other injuries?** His body was so numb he couldn't tell.

The healer stared. "How did you-...?" Loki rolled his eyes, summoned up every particle of power he could find, and quieted the questions in the healer's mind. He tapped on his message again, and the man nodded and began to explain. "There was some tearing, mostly minor, which we fixed with stitches. You're on painkillers. And that IV is saline."

Loki set aside his appreciation of the word  _painkillers,_ which he had never heard before, and tried to focus on translating the healer's words into concepts he understood. The tube called  _ivy_ seemed to be funneling a bag of liquid into him, which would have concerned him very much if Thor hadn't assured him that the healers were only helping. He wanted to ask questions, but on the other hand, he appreciated that his problems had not been spelled out in graphic detail in front of his brother. Thor seemed a little frustrated by that, but nevertheless drew the healer away gently and dismissed him with very gracious thanks. Then he told Loki: "Father had a sorcerer lay hands on you also."

A sorcerer. That explained why Loki had been able to pull at little pieces of magic still clinging to his body. It occurred to him that if he did not yet have his powers back, it likely meant that his punishment was not yet over. He sighed. It should not surprise him, that coming within an inch of death was not enough to win the Allfather's sympathy.

But it was certainly enough to win Thor's. After a moment of silence, Thor added, with a very poor attempt at composure: "Tearing? What have they done to you, brother?"

 _We'll wind that thing until it guts you._ Which reminded him...

Loki shook his head. He gestured again for a pen, and Thor found one on a nearby table.  **My guards** _,_ he wrote.  **Here?**

Thor nodded, looking troubled. "They wait outside," he admitted. "But they have not yet tried to take you."

Waiting outside. He'd been afraid of that.  **You must take them a message, brother** _,_  he wrote.  **A confession that I owe them** _._

"A confession?" Thor echoed, confused, but did not press. Loki was focused on his note, choosing his words carefully.  _If you lie again..._

 **I wanted to be necessary,** he wrote on a fresh sheet.  **If there were a disaster and I helped with it, I would be hailed alongside my brother. It was a foolish daydream, a child's fantasy, nothing more.**  He paused and reflected. Was that the  _only_ reason? The full truth? He did not want to accidentally lie by omission, so he closed his eyes and imagined the scene, how it would have played out in the best of all possible worlds.

He thought of the people screaming, running in a thousand directions, while he and Thor (mostly him, honestly) stood there strong and firm and composed, ready to deal with the problem. The people panicking all around him, such fun... Ah.

 **Also,** he added,  **I like chaos.**

He folded the confession up and nodded to Thor to take it outside.

**********************************

Loki stayed in bed for days, and Thor did not leave his bedside. They played games, silly drawing games they remembered from childhood, and Thor read to him from odd books he had found in Midgard. Loki couldn't talk, but he soon learned how to approximate a laugh. They held hands, without mentioning it, and Loki felt almost as grateful for the silence as for the comfort. At night, again without a word, Thor crawled into bed with him and curled around him from behind. He kept an arm thrown over Loki all night – and in that hand he held Mjolnir. It would be physically impossible for harm to come to Loki while they slept.

Once or twice at night Loki found himself feeling strangely glad that he was incapable of speaking; it was so wonderful to lie in safety next to his brother that he would have felt compelled, if he were able, to open his mouth and spoil the moment with a barbed comment. As it was though, he could only snuggle back against the warm wall of Thor's muscle and hum what was meant to be  _goodnight_.

In the daytime, though, it was frustrating not to be able to talk. He would have liked to repay Thor for his care by speaking the words Thor surely wanted to hear:  _I'm sorry. You're my brother and I love you. I was just envious and wanted your place. I was so in awe of you that I just wanted to BE you. I lied to you to keep you out of Asgard and out of my way, but I grieved to have hurt you in the process. And I meant only to distract you with the Destroyer and keep you busy; I didn't realize what damage it would do; I'd forgotten how weak you were in mortal form._

That last bit, actually, was true. Loki really did regret the casual slap that had sent Thor flying half a block with his ribs broken and his face slashed. He'd meant it as a provocation; he wanted to fight. But while Laufey had once managed to turn the prince combative just by calling him  _princess,_ the Destroyer couldn't talk and Loki had invented another way. As it turned out, though, mortals couldn't survive being hit in the face by the gigantic metal fist of a death-robot. Who knew?

But Loki didn't want to write any of this out for Thor on his pad; he wasn't entirely certain Thor would believe him and the prospect of Thor getting angry and walking out and leaving him to the mercy of the Drones was just too frightening. When he had his speech back he would be able to tell Thor whatever he wanted and make Thor believe it, but in the meantime, it seemed safest to remain quiet and docile and helpless as a kitten.

Thor had always liked kittens.

**********************************

One morning Loki awoke feeling rested and reckless. He remembered the conversation he had overheard (dreamed?) and wondered if perhaps there was some power he could draw on to help himself somehow. There was magic  _everywhere,_ he knew. Even Thor had been taught to grab and use bits of it, as a child. And now it had been poured all over him by Father's sorcerer... There had to be some left.

He lay still, matching his breathing to his brother's, calming and collecting himself. Then, all at once, he vanished his mouth from around the hateful metal and reconstituted it, stronger.

There was still a soreness deep at the back of his head that told him the job he had done was imperfect. Still, it would do. He reached up to his face and carefully peeled away the pieces of tape that kept his lips closed, then opened his mouth and spat out the metal bits. Now he would be able to talk again.

As he tested his face muscles carefully, he noticed that the stitches inside his cheek were indeed annoying. So were the ones in his lips. He knew he did not have it in him to repeat the magic he had just performed, but still, he  _did_ think he could erase a couple of small cuts.

He nudged Thor awake. "I need a favor."

Thor blinked sleepily and then scrambled to sit up. "You speak!"

"A bit." Loki was doing his best to move his mouth as little as possible. "Still hurts. I want the stitches gone. You pick the threads out, I'll close the cuts."

"How?"

"I'm stronger than anybody knew, aren't I? Come – help me."

Thor hunted through cabinets until he found a pair of tiny scissors. Loki tried to rid himself of the suspicion that Thor's massive fingers would handle them clumsily, and sat under a light with his head tilted back.

Removing the stitches was harrowing and uncomfortable, but successful. Loki surged and his cuts closed at once.

Then there was a knock on the door, and Loki immediately realized what a stupid, stupid thing he had just done. Being unable to talk had protected him from interrogation for several days – several sweet, peaceful days. Now, though, he was physically able to answer questions... and he remembered that Odin himself had a few matters that he wanted to discuss.

The sight of the Drones made him feel ill. He pressed against his brother. "Help me."

**********************************

TBC.

Next chapter Thor and Loki will finally talk.

Also: The mouth-sewn-shut concept freaked me out when I was a little kid reading Loki stories, and I'm delighted to have found a way of making it into a positive healing measure instead of (yet another) disgusting, creepy thing Odin allowed done to his child as punishment. (As I recall, though this could be wrong bc I read it a long time ago, it wasn't actually Odin doing the sewing, but in the illustration in my book he was just standing there looking all stern and formal.)

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Loki is kind of emotionally unstable this chapter. Can't say I blame him.

**  
**

** ****************************************** **

In the old days, Thor would have chosen a side (seemingly, sometimes, at random) and enforced his will with his hammer. Now, though, he seemed to be trying to keep a level head, some sort of neutrality. He refused to either hand Loki over or defend him.

"Stop. Stop right there. Tell me what you intend to do," he ordered. "Let us solve this like civilized people."

Drone One spoke up. "We have been asked to prepare Prince Loki for interrogation again," he explained. "The Allfather would like to speak to him."

"Well, I mislike leaving my brother in your care after you injured him so badly," Thor said, eminently reasonable. "Perhaps we can call my father here and discuss it with him."

"Discuss? No!" Loki hissed. He was not quite willing to come out from behind Thor, but he spun him around by the shoulders and said up into his face, "If you're ever going to revert to being the rash, willful, and violent man I remember, this would be the time. I need you – I would not do this lightly, brother, but I  _beg_  you to protect me. Their dungeons are cruelty beyond what you suspect."

Thor hefted Mjolnir and twirled it in his hand. "I could fight our way out of this place," he said. "Father would be displeased with me, but that's all right." He sighed. "But he will not allow you back to Asgard if you do not cooperate with his plans. You would lose your home forever. And I would lose you."

"You might well lose me anyway if they again-…" Loki broke off and rephrased himself. "Thor, they tortured me very nearly to  _death_ ," he explained. "I don't think I can bear it again. I… I don't."

"If you refuse you'll be abandoned. Accursed – and mortal. You would not enjoy that life, brother. Please:  _I_  beg  _you_. Do whatever you have to do to make peace with Father. Surely it is better than death or exile?"

He was attempting to justify and convince. What happened to the empty-headed brawler who would attack anything in his path and treated  _compromise_ like a dirty word? Loki was close to despair.

"Please, brother," Thor pressed. "I do not ask it lightly either – it grieves me, pains me to know that you suffer. I wish I could help you. But I want-"

Earnest, caring, steady,  _stupid_. The speech drove Loki mad, and he had to interrupt. "Oh, does it pain you? Does it really?" He didn't let Thor answer. "You don't know the  _meaning_ of the words you use! Grief? Pain? Suffering?  _You don't know!_ " he shouted. He was shaking with rage. Oh, he wanted to show. He wanted to  _show_ Thor, teach him firsthand, make him feel it, pain down to his  _bones_ until all he  _was_ was pain…

But he couldn't, could he. Because Thor was a god, and the favorite, and would never have to know the kind of misery he was speculating about.

Loki stopped shouting and tried to think through his rage. He remembered suddenly that he had nearly  _died_ down in the dungeons out of a powerful, perverse impulse to spite Thor. What a stupid urge.

He calmed himself enough to consider his options more carefully. With Thor's backing he could insist on exile... but then he would be mortal and helpless. Odin might eventually relent, or Thor once he became king, but what if Loki's life ran out in the meantime? That was a chance he could not take.

He had no other choices. Unless he wanted to die (which he did  _not;_  after struggling so hard to survive he was damn well going to do it), he would have to accept the Allfather's nightmarish punishment.

But he wouldn't let Thor escape a few nightmares of his own. "Do you really want to help me?" he asked, evenly.

After all his shouting, Thor seemed surprised to hear him speak like a rational creature. "Of course."

"Then, stay with me. For all of it." He let his gaze fall to the floor, ran his hands up his arms. "It is hard, to endure a dungeon alone," he murmured. "I would fare better if I had my brother by my side. You cannot know the desolation… it is…"

"Say no more." Thor took him by the shoulders. "I will not leave you."

Loki felt his eyes growing wet, and was momentarily surprised that after all he had been through he could still produce tears so conveniently. "Thank you, brother." A tiny, perfect waver to his voice. A tremulous smile.

Thor was going to  _hate_ this. That was some satisfaction, at least.

He stepped up to the Drones, took a deep fortifying breath, and crossed his wrists.

******************************************

Instead of binding him, they fitted him with a wide metal gauntlet that produced painful shocks. When he realized that the shocks would come at unpredictable intervals and varying intensity, he heaved a sigh. There went his ability to relax.

Thor stayed beside him as the cuff was put on, and accompanied him as he was led to a small outdoor courtyard. A Drone Loki didn't recognize held out its hand. "Your clothing, Prince Loki."

Loki rolled his eyes. "If you mean to humiliate me you're wasting your time," he said, as he undressed. "Thor and I have bathed together since childhood." At least they gave him a towel to sling around his hips.

There were lounge chairs. The princes sat down, reclining back, closing their eyes against the sun. Thor reached for his hand again and Loki gave it. A while later, though, the cuff buzzed and both of them yelped. Thor pulled his hand free and shook it out. "Ow _,_ " he complained.

Loki immediately saw potential. Predicting the shocks was not possible, but they lasted long enough that if he moved as soon as one started, he would still be able to deliver a buzz. His mood lifted in ways it hadn't since the whole miserable ordeal started.

"I see you thinking," Thor warned, amused. "And I can guess what it is about."

Loki gave a syrupy smile. "Dear brother. A hug." He opened his arms, and Thor smacked him in the shoulder with a laugh.

The blow hurt clearly more than Thor meant it to. Loki winced and rubbed; mortal form was pitiful. "My apologies-," Thor began, but Loki waved him to silence. It was as good an opening as any.

"No –  _my_ apologies," he insisted, "For bashing you up as I did on Midgard. I thought only to delay you – it never occurred to me that there was a fight you could not win."

Thor was quiet a moment. But he was quick as ever to find his good mood. "So I'm to take that death-blow as a compliment?" he said with the beginnings of a smile.

"I'm afraid so."

He laughed. "I must say you're not very good at giving compliments."

As they smiled together Loki already felt much less glad about having dragged his brother into this horror. In fact, he rather hated himself for it. "I worry for the realm, brother, if its future king is so trusting as to take the word of a traitor and a lunatic, a monster, without question."

"Such hard words, brother. I do not think-" He broke off as Loki jerked. "That bracelet again? Come – take my hand. Surely it goes easier if we bear it together. There." Once settled, he continued: "I do not think you deserve them. At least I hope not – I hope you did not mean to betray the people who love you and the realm you were born to protect."

"That realm is not mine and with the exception of you and Mother there's nobody to whom I owe even a bit of love or loyalty." Loki shook his head. "I don't wish to discuss it, Thor. Traitor, lunatic, monster: I am all of that."

"I don't believe it. And even you, Loki of the silver tongue, cannot convince me. Save your breath. Rest that mouth of yours."

Loki tried to close his eyes and nap, but it was hard to rest with the possibility of a shock looming over him. Before too long he gave up, and rolled onto his side to face his brother head-on. "You are as stubborn as ever."

"Yes."

"But you  _have_ changed. You used to have no compassion at all," Loki mused. "Now you have so much compassion that even I cannot wear it out. I'm not sure that's an improvement." They winced as a shock sizzled through them. "Sorry," Loki added.

"It's not your doing." Thor clasped Loki's hand between both his own. "Now talk to me. Perhaps if you open your heart Father will be satisfied, and they won't hurt you again."

"I don't want to talk to you."

"Why?"

 _Because I don't want you to know that I am the alien we were raised to scorn and fear._ He settled on: "Because you'll like me even less than you do already."

Thor took a moment, clearly trying to puzzle out the best response. Finally he settled on: "Stop saying such things. All I ask is another chance – I swear I won't ever take you for granted again. Please, let us make peace. Talk."

It was getting warm, too warm, and Loki sat up to turn his back on the sun and shade his face. "I'm not your brother," he said after a bit. "How's that? Odin adopted me – stole me. We're not brothers. We're not even the same race."

Thor blinked. "I admit that is a strange thought," he said after a while. "I always considered us the same flesh and blood. A different race… hm. But in the end I think it does not matter overmuch." He hazarded a smile. "Is that why you named yourself monster?"

How could he fail to take this confession seriously? Loki's eyes narrowed. "I am of a monstrous race, an ugly, warlike race, a race that kills its own kin with no remorse." He, personally, had killed his own kin with no remorse, so that was true enough. "We could not be more different, you and I."

"You were raised with me. Like me," Thor argued. "We are at least part the same."

Loki didn't answer – more due to exhaustion than anything else. They sat without speaking, until a particularly savage shock made Thor growl. "That cuff is beginning to wear on my temper."

"Good – perhaps you'll get angry enough to destroy it." Or he might not, he might just scamper off and leave Loki to his ugly fate. For all his talk of brotherhood Thor was remarkably unconcerned about the impending torture.

Unconcerned about the impending torture, unconcerned that his brother was a monster, unconcerned that he ought to be mistrusting him. Unconcerned! Suddenly tired of being the only one under stress, Loki fished for a way to concern him. "I am Jotun," he declared suddenly. "That's why no frost-giant can hurt me with his touch – I am one. How about that? This  _brother_ of yours is one of the enemy."

Thor's smile faltered. "Are you joking with me?"

"Do you think that being a frost-giant is something to joke about?"

"I… that was the bitterest war Asgard has ever fought."

"Don't look at  _me;_ I didn't start it." Thor only stared. "I was a baby born during the war. The Allfather brought me home as some sort of trophy, I think." Loki could not remember the last time he just  _talked_ , with no plan or calculation, just opening his mouth and letting words come out.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He should have guessed that would be Thor's first concern. In Thor's view, everything was about Thor in the end. Loki shrugged. "I just found out. You were already on Midgard. In Jotunheim I'd noticed that those  _things_ didn't hurt me the way they hurt the rest of you. I asked Father about it. He was kind enough to tell me the truth. Finally."

"Jotunheim," Thor echoed slowly. He swallowed. "Loki, those were your people we were killing."

"Don't call them my  _people,"_  Loki snarled, "I have no people. I have no family, I have no throne,  _I have no people_."

"Brother…"

The dam burst. "And don't call me brother! I have no brother – no family at all. I thought Odin was my father, I would have done  _anything_ for his respect – did you know I had a plan once to carve out  _my_ eye too, come home with some spectacular new sorcery for it that would make him finally stand up and take notice, only now I'm glad I didn't, because it wouldn't have helped, would it, because he could never be proud of me, never love me, because Odin was all I had for a father but he knew  _I was never his son_! You're the only thing he  _OH- o_ w- e _nough_!" His ranting derailed by a shock, Loki clawed at the cuff in a rage – managing only to scratch himself and make it all worse. "Fucking thing, you  _thing_ , enough!"

"Loki. Loki!" Thor finally got out of his chair, and hauled Loki up to embrace him. "Don't do that – you'll hurt yourself. Please. Brother, I am so sorry-"

Loki fought and shrieked " _I AM NOT YOUR BROTHER!_ " and " _I AM A FUCKING FROST-GIANT!"_ until Thor squeezed him almost into unconsciousness.

When Loki finally reached the end of his ability to fight and scream, he was released. He touched his face gingerly, ears ringing in the sudden quiet. "I hurt," he said at last. "I think I need my jaw shut again." Thor looked miserable, so Loki dug deep and found the strength to make light. "For more reasons than one. I'm sorry I burdened you with that ugly truth – and even more sorry I shouted it into your ear so many times."

"Never apologize for sharing truth with me, brother." Then Thor frowned. "May I still-…? We were raised together," he pointed out. "We will always be brothers, to me."

What was he supposed to say to that? Loki shrugged. "As you will."

They sat back down, in silence that was, maybe for the first time ever, awkward. "Stop thinking about it," Loki snapped at last.

"Then what should I think about?"

"I don't know." Loki cast around for something else. "I hate it out here – the sun is too hot. I'm burning up. Can you make it storm?"

"But the weather is beautiful. The sun is-" Suddenly Thor jumped. "Loki. Sunburn."

"What?"

"Sunburn. Jane said something to me on Midgard, that I ought not walk too long beneath the sun, because those with fair skin and no powers can suffer burns by it. It is called  _sunburn._ "

Come to think of it, his skin  _was_ stinging unpleasantly. Loki looked down at himself, and noticed that he seemed a bit pinker than he was used to. "You might have recalled that fact a little earlier in the day," he growled, and beckoned with impatience. "Give me your cloak."

He wrapped himself in it, deftly sucking up the little bits of magic he could feel clinging, and sat on the ground in Thor's shadow. "I'm an idiot. I should have known about sunburn." Or at least thought to wonder what the Drones were doing locking him up outside all day with no clothes to cover him. He had been too distracted by Thor to think. Very dangerous, not thinking. Insane as he might be – and he fully acknowledged, now, that he was insane – his mind was still his best and only weapon.

After a bit Thor laughed down at him. "This may be the first time I have shared knowledge with  _you,_  instead of vice versa." Loki didn't answer. He only waited until his gauntlet began to shock, and then grabbed hold of Thor's ankle.

******************************************

TBC.

Yes, it's too late: Loki is fully baked. I'm sure that will improve his mood.

Next chapter will probably feature chatting with the Drones, and some comparatively minor loki-mashing. Unfortunately there may be a day's delay; tomorrow is ridiculously busy for me and I'm not likely to even get home before midnight.

Let me know what you think! Your comments make me squee so hard.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long with this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love that people have commented on the Drones' professionalism, and on Odin's having turned Loki into more of a political creature than he ever would have been. Because both concepts come up in this chapter.

*************************************

Loki spent the night in misery. There was no way to lie that did not hurt. His skin had become a deep vivid magenta, ugly and alien, and no amount of wishing himself back to normal was successful.

His whole body hurt to touch – even the sheets hurt. They hadn't bothered to bind him this time, but there was no way to be comfortable anyway. Movement was agony, he was burning up, but also, incredibly, freezing. The minutes crawled by and he could not stop shivering.

He tried the shower, but he couldn't bear the touch of the water; it was like needles on his skin. Eventually Thor thought to soak his cloak and let Loki wrap in it, and that was better, but still the fabric felt like sandpaper every time he so much as breathed. He tried to lie perfectly still.

"This is the way of it," he finally explained to Thor, snarling. "Make me pathetic and miserable so that I'm an easier target in the dungeons. Easy to break somebody who's already half broken, isn't it? You'll be amazed at how fast I fall apart tomorrow. I apologize in advance for failing to provide a good show."

If he was hoping to get Thor upset, he was disappointed. "Hush. Forget tomorrow, brother," Thor said firmly. "First you must bear tonight. Try to sleep. I will keep you wet and cool."

"Like a serpent."

"Serpents are dry, actually. The Midgard desert had serpents. They were-"

" _Shut up_."

"As you will."

"And stop being so  _patient._ What's the matter with you?"

"Go to sleep, Loki."

Loki snarled again, but didn't argue. And eventually, nestled in his slimy cold (and  _snakelike_ , no matter what Thor said) cocoon, Loki dozed off.

*************************************

By morning the pain had eased just enough to be manageable. They fed him, which he took for a good sign, but made him relinquish his cloak-cocoon and put on a robe instead. He scowled at the Drone who insisted – it was the new Drone again, the one Loki had undressed for in the courtyard. "Who are you?" he said finally, annoyed. "And what happened to-…" he changed his mind about  _Drones One and Two_  and said: "the others?"  _They,_ he was sure, would have let him keep the cloak.

"Gone," said the new Drone.

Drone Three sighed from the doorway. "We've all lost rank for our failure with you, Loki. I'll prepare you for interrogations but I can't conduct them anymore, and your former prep team has been removed from your case entirely. You won't be seeing them again."

This was the longest speech he had ever heard from a Drone, and it was quite interesting. "Failure? I thought you all were quite effective." Loki made himself smile. Flattery would get you everywhere. "You got your confession, didn't you?"

The Drone was not amused. "We misjudged your strength – badly. We'd planned to continue for hours, but we found you unconscious and barely breathing. Of course words are pointless, but…" the Drone spread its hands. "Apologies. Deepest, profoundest apologies for the danger we put you in. I don't know how we miscalculated so far."

 _I do – you're dealing with a magician, that's how._  But their caution could only help him, so Loki just shrugged and did his best to look grave, wise, aloof. "Perhaps next time I tell you  _I can't,_ you'll listen to me."

Drone Three shrugged. "It won't be my decision." He led Loki to the dungeons without talking any more. Once they were there, he gestured to a chair,  _the_ chair, the bolted one, with great courtesy. "Please, have a seat. Put your arms behind your back and clasp your hands."

"Do I have to?" Loki pouted.

The Drone pointed to the seat of the chair. "See that slot?" he said, without any anger. "There's an attachment that locks in there, a seven-inch metal spike. Right now, it's hanging on the wall."

"An excellent place for it to stay," Loki said smoothly, sitting down as requested. He reached behind him, wondering about the binding rod. "Are we playing drinking games again?"

"Shut your mouth."

Unbound, clothed, and with Thor in the room, Loki felt brave enough to disobey. "That's not very polite. And here we were having a nice conver-" He flinched when Three's hand approached his face, and ducked to hide against his shoulder.

But the Drone was only reaching for his chin, pressing it upwards to close Loki's teeth. "Stay like that – your jaw is still fragile. Face front."

Loki bit down just in time: Three hauled off and slapped him full across the face. The force of the blow turned his head. Once he faced front he was hit again.

Both cheeks burning now, Loki waited where he was, face pressed to shoulder, waiting for the pain to assimilate. He wanted  _so badly_ to bring his hands up and rub, but Thor would see that as weakness, so he didn't.

The Drone made an impatient noise. "Again, Loki. Face front. Don't be difficult."

Loki straightened out, wincing in advance of the blow. When it came it was the hardest yet; his lip split and bled. Without being told he just licked the blood up and faced front again. He heard Thor suck in his breath.

In order to take his mind off the pain Loki started counting. He had a headache at ten, was jerking and flinching by twenty, and – clenched teeth or not – by thirty his jaw ached steadily. At forty-two they stopped. Loki was breathing hard, dizzy, miserable.

Drone Three looked him over and nodded. The new Drone (Four?) took out the binding rod, and sealed Loki's arms and legs where they were. Then he went and fetched something terrifying: red-hot metal. Loki shrank back against the chair, praying that the glowing chunk was only a tool to scare him with… but they brought it to within a few inches of his chest and held it there.

It was nowhere near touching his skin, but the heat felt blistering against his sunburn and he began to thrash and wheeze. The Drone moved it around, slowly, and Loki felt a scream rising in his throat. He choked it down. He would not,  _would not_ shriek before anything terrible was even done to him.

At last the metal was taken away, but he hardly had time to sigh with relief, because immediately afterwards he was punched hard in the solar plexus.

Even winded and gasping, Loki heard his brother jump out of chair with a noise of protest. He meant to look at Thor and tell him it was all right, but he couldn't, because suddenly everything went dark as the Drones pulled a hood over his head.

It was silent for a while and he was not touched. He tried to quiet down his own terrified breathing so he could hear what was coming, but it was no good; his gasps and his heartbeat were still in his ear, and he was completely deaf and blind.

He tensed all over and turned his face aside, waiting.

He waited a while. Finally, just as he started to calm down, a finger trailed over his jaw. He yelped, tensing all over again.

"Face front."

Loki relaxed. As long as he knew what was coming it really wasn't so bad. He faced front and closed his eyes against the slap that was coming…

But instead, they smacked him in the back of the head and then hit him in the stomach. Once he could breathe again they grabbed his head to pull his chin from his chest, and  _then_ came the face slaps.

It was a while before Loki tried to relax again.

*************************************

All morning. They tormented him all morning, hitting and burning and pinching, until he was covered in hurts and they were burning him on top of his bruises and pinching the sites of his burns. He still couldn't see and every new pain was a surprise, making him cry out and jerk against his bindings so hard his arms and legs ached. Sweat soaked his robe and stuck his hood to his face, stinging his eyes, tickling down his rib cage, pooling annoyingly at the small of his back. Every time he twisted and squirmed to relieve the tickling, he was painfully reminded that he had an ass full of stitches and it would be better to sit still. He couldn't sit still.

When they finally unhooded him he was a mess – disgusting, and in pain, and completely exhausted. He had never realized how fear could drain a person, but after a couple of hours of fear Loki was finished. The Drones unbound him and had to help him to his feet; he almost collapsed in their cool Drone arms.

Their grip hurt his burnt skin, though, and he pulled free. "Lunch?" he asked, trying for insolence.

"Almost," Three told him. "First, undress and get down on all fours."

Out of energy to disobey, he shrugged his robe off and collapsed to the ground almost gratefully. "No," Drone Four corrected. "Not your knees. Hands and feet."

Moving stung his skin unpleasantly when it stretched, but Loki slowly straightened his body until it was planked and only his hands and feet rested on the floor. Midgard warriors did this, he knew, to make themselves stronger. It was called  _pushup._ Were they going to make him exercise?

A loud crash from just beside him made him jump, but Drone Three was grabbing him in an instant, steadying his hips so he didn't fall. Loki looked down and saw glass – the other Drone had just broken a bottle on the floor.

 _Crash._ Another bottle.  _Crash._ More glass. Loki looked all around in panic, as both Drones poured out handfuls of metal and glass, covering the floor with lethal-looking fragments. He could guess what those would do to this fragile little mortal skin. The idea of falling – or even moving his hands and feet to get more comfortable – was out of the question.

But his arms had already started shaking. "How long?" he bit out, watching sweat drip down from his hair to the floor.

Drone Three had sat down in the bolted chair, and picked up a book. "A while."

*************************************

He was brought back to his room after they were done with him. A Drone wiped his cuts (he had finally given up and taken a knee, and he had glass in one palm also because his hand had slipped) with something stinging, and painted them with something that sealed them at once. Then Drone Three gestured for him to turn around.

"Clasp your hands," it said, "Palm to palm. Good. Now relax." Loki's shoulders were rolled back, gently but all the way. The binding rod cinched his elbows.

The pressure on his shoulders was uncomfortable, and if he unclasped his hands it only got worse. "So much for lunch," he muttered, eyeing the tray they had left him. His position was strenuous enough that his usual acrobatics would be impossible.

Then, from behind him: "Sit down; I will feed you." Ah. He'd forgotten that he now had a shadow. Torture did the strangest things to your mind.

"Thanks." He sat on his bed and watched Thor bring over his tray and cut up his food for him. Thor's face was strangely blank. "Thor? Are you all right?"

"Me?" Thor's eyes snapped to his. "It is troubling, to see what I saw. But I know that if such things are done in the name of the laws of Asgard I should not hide from them."

Loki devoured a few bites before answering. "What you saw was nothing."

"I know. But to see it happen to someone I care for…"

Loki swallowed once more, burped, glared. "What you saw was nothing,  _and no one._  Have you forgotten everything I told you yesterday?"

Thor was visibly struggling to keep quiet. "Just eat, Loki," he said at last. "Let us not argue."

He ate, but after less than half the plate he sat back. "Enough. If I eat too much before the dungeons, I'll vomit again."

Thor still looked strange. Dull and weary. Loki would almost say  _defeated,_ except that Thor was never defeated. "You should rest," Thor suggested at last.

"How?" With his arms pulled so far behind him there was no way to lie comfortably. Not that he would have been comfortable anyway. "Did your woman tell you how long a sunburn lasts?" he finally thought to ask.

"No. Does it still pain you? You're still red."

Loki nodded. "I'm burning up. The temperature of everything I touch is… wrong." He snorted. "Maybe Odin lied; maybe I'm actually a fire-giant instead."

Thor didn't laugh with him. Instead his eyes widened. "Loki! They can frost themselves," he said, excited. "The Jotuns. They turn to ice. Can you not do that yourself?"

At first Loki meant to shake his head and remind his idiot brother that his powers had all been taken from him, but then, he realized that this was perhaps not a power Odin could take. To slip back into his own true form… his true, grotesque form. Surely he didn't need power for that?

He knew what the transformation felt like. And yes, as much as he hated it, he knew the cold would feel delicious today.

Thor was watching avidly. "No," Loki snapped. "I don't want you to see this. Go away." He ignored the pleading, and the pleading look, and only once Thor was safely standing in a corner did he close his eyes and concentrate.

He let the freeze come over him, icing over his pain, erasing it completely…

But the glorious numbness was interrupted by a stab of panic when he realized he wasn't breathing. Couldn't breathe.

His eyes opened. He was hurting for air but his lungs wouldn't expand; he was paralyzed with terror and wanted to cry out for Thor but couldn't even manage that.

Then there was a terrific  _BANG_  and he realized his head had hit the floor. " _You've pushed yourself too far again, Loki,_ " Odin's voice said from somewhere. " _You cannot shapeshift in this state. You must rest – you're going to make yourself mad._ " " _I am not._ " His own voice, that. Not his  _real_ voice; it was faraway and echoing.

"Loki?  _Loki!_ "  _That_ voice was real.

Thor was shaking him too hard, and he mumbled grouchily. "Mm. Did it work?"

"It… Open your eyes, brother. I saw blue but it's fading. You're cold to the touch now, and… well, look! The burn has vanished. I believe you did it."

Indeed he had. His cuts and bruises hardly mattered – he felt  _wonderful._ Loki snickered. "Thank you, Laufey."

All at once Thor tensed. "Laufey?" he said. "What do you mean?"

Loki sighed. Thor already had half the story; what harm in giving him the rest? "I mean we have Laufey to thank for this mutt you name your brother," he explained. "I'm his son. Laufey, great chief monster of all the monsters, is my father. Was." His head hurt. He was ranting. He felt madder than ever.

But Thor sobered him right up again. "Loki…" he said, slowly, "Then you're the rightful king of Jotunheim."

*************************************

TBC.

Ouches next chapter, but nothing unreadable. And lots of Thor.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: While I seriously doubt there is anybody going around trying to act out the things in this story, just in case, I should warn: the restraint system described in this chapter is NOT SAFE; the neck-rope here is super duper dangerous and should not be used for actual bondage of actual people.

**  
**

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The king of the frost-giants did not require any further comfort from a slow and stubborn Asgardian prince. The king of the frost-giants nodded politely to the slaves that came to conduct him to his dungeons, because anger at such creatures was beneath him. The king of the frost-giants did not fear. The king of the frost-giants could not be dishonored by such a silly little inconvenience as a plain rope hogtie; even folded up on the ground with his arms cinched tight behind his back and tied to his ankles he was ten times grander than anybody he knew. When a rope was wound around his neck and secured to his feet, the king of the frost-giants only arched his back harder and breathed anyway.

The sound of a cane whistling through the air was familiar to the king of the frost-giants, but the idea that it might intimidate him was just laughable.

Then the stroke landed across the soles of his feet, and Loki woke up all at once. He kicked reflexively, which choked him, and for a while forgot about everything except trying to breathe.

Thrashing and struggling in panic, he discovered that if he arched his back harder he could slacken the rope. He stayed that way, head thrown back, staring up at the ceiling wheezing. The pressure of the squeeze on his throat made him want to cough, but he suspected coughing would hurt and forbid himself.

Drone Three chuckled. "Joining us, Loki? Where have you been?"

 _Jotunheim._ "You tell me," he rasped. "I still don't even know what realm we're in." Talking made his crushed throat tickle, and he did cough then. He was right – it hurt.

After a bit the cane poked him in the back. "Relax or you'll tire. Arch only when you need to inhale."

Sound advice, but relaxing under these conditions was a challenge. Loki filled his lungs and then released the tension from his bowed back so that his chest sank to the floor. It would have been almost comfortable, except it was only a temporary solution because he couldn't draw in more than shallow snatches of air.

And, equally troubling, his bare feet were still pointing up at the ceiling, still throbbing, and still tied to his neck.  _Do not kick,_ he told himself. (( _The king of the frost-giants does not kick!_ ))

He frowned and tried to clear his head. Frost-giants could wait; right now he had bigger problems. Where was the cane? Whichever Drone had the weapon was the one he needed to pay attention to. He saw boots. "Ready now?" That was Drone Three again.

He heard a  _swish-CRACK_ and knew that Four was the culprit. Then the pain was too intense to do any more thinking.

He did manage not to kick. But the effort required to hold still was almost beyond him, and his muscles were aching and trembling when next he pulled himself up to breathe. He held the position only long enough to inhale once, and then sank down.

 _Swish-CRACK_  again. He didn't kick… but the sting did drive a gasp from him, which made him cough and gag. He was still coughing when he was struck unexpectedly on the leg a moment later, and all shreds of discipline fled entirely. He kicked by accident, and fought and wheezed against the strangle.

"Control yourself, Loki," Drone Three ordered, with more than a little scorn. Some time passed and he did his best, but the muscles of his back were cramping and burning after all the work he had demanded of them and every breath was more difficult than the one before. The rope cut into his neck too, constant pressure, making it impossible to forget even for a moment that he was in danger.

As soon as he got a handle on himself, the caning started again. He kicked and choked, and when he tried to arch for air he got a jolt of pain in his back that told him he had hurt himself through overexertion. He hissed "I tore something!" but the Drones didn't stop. Instead, they hit him harder, with never a clue as to where or when next, all over his arms and legs and sides and feet. Eventually he was obliged to gasp "Please - a break? A moment, I - _ah_ \- I just need... Please!" They were aiming strokes precisely where he was welted already. His feet were punished especially viciously; they slashed over and over and over again so that he lost his head and degenerated into wild wordless bleating. They continued until he couldn't draw enough air to support the noises he was making. The world was going dark around him when they finally paused.

Loki lay still, trying to recover. They let him – and even loosened the rope at his neck for a time. His joints ached from all his yanking and his hands had gone numb. Ropes were digging in everywhere, chafing and pinching, and he missed the neat painless seal of the Drones' binding rod. Inescapable though it was.

As he caught his breath and recovered his ability to think, he realized that the rest was not a kindness on the Drones' part. Rather, they had gauged his endurance perfectly and knew he was at the end. Giving him a few moments to rest would let them keep going.

He shuddered in his ropes. They could draw this out almost indefinitely. They had planned to continue that atrocity with the pear for  _hours,_ Three had said. For all he knew he was going to have to bear this for days.

He tried to think of a plan. The other day, tied to a table and ripped open at both ends, he had escaped by magicking himself out of his own body. That was a dangerous solution,  _but it had worked._  Wandering around in the ether had been a blessed reprieve from the pain, and, incidentally, had been quite enlightening. When he shed his body he apparently had access to unusual wisdom.

He really didn't see any downside to that. All he had to do was-

 _Swish-CRACK._  "Sorry – did I catch you off guard?" Drone Three laughed while he yelped and jerked.

It hurt, but it was not terrible enough to make him pull away from his mortal form entirely. He doubted that any amount of beating would be.

So, he waited until the Drones re-tightened his neck rope, and then he kicked back with all his strength.

**************************************

Strangling himself was far easier than Loki had expected. He had worried about having the will to follow through on the plan, but it turned out that when his body began to panic and overcame his will, its involuntary thrashing actually  _helped_. He spasmed in all directions at once, locked so hard his torso lifted off the floor entirely, rocking on his hips, yanking at his neck rope even more powerfully. He saw stars within seconds.

The commotion around him said the Drones had immediately noticed what he was up to. Also, he could hear a deep familiar yelling in the background that he felt oddly sad about causing. But nobody was going to be able to stop him in time; another moment and he was relaxing warm and peaceful, fainting, and he closed his eyes and gathered himself up and  _pulled_  to escape.

It was more uncomfortable than last time, a full-body tearing sensation, but he knew it was working. He could feel himself coalescing, unfurling, standing to-

Return. Noisy, violent, painful. The floor was hard and cool underneath him, Drone hands were gripping him and forcing him onto his side, the hot grind of ropeburn as his strangle was cut away.

He struggled, enraged at his failure and at his situation in general, but he stopped raging when strong arms rolled him to his back. "Loki?  _Loki!_  Look at me, brother."

Ah, the source of the frantic yelling. Loki quieted and stopped fighting. He was running out of energy for it anyway.

"Cut him loose," Thor was demanding. "Cut him loose  _right now,_ I have to talk to him. Do it!"

The Drones shrugged at each other, and Four cut through the rope that ran elbows-to-ankles to keep Loki bent double. Once it was gone, he straightened out gratefully and just lay still, prepared to accept whatever lecture Thor decided to deliver about the stupid risk he had taken.

Instead of lecturing, though, Thor cupped his face in one giant hand, and dripped something onto his cheek that tasted like salt and for the love of all drink in Valhalla  _Thor was crying_.

Loki twisted to look up. "It's fine, you idiot," he said, hoarse after the crushing his throat had taken. "I knew what I was doing."

"No." Thor's voice cracked. "I have told you already, brother:  _you will not die_. It cannot, cannot be what you truly want. I will help you-"

"Oh, for- shut up. Die?" Loki started to laugh, which made him cough. But it was a reasonable mistake. "I wasn't killing myself. Honestly. I was only…"  _Escaping_ would sound ridiculous. "…I was trying some magic," he admitted. "I thought I could do it in great extremes. That's all I was trying to do, was push myself. I was not trying to die." Thor had wiped his face, but still looked far too shaken, so Loki added: "You won't be rid of me that easily."

Teasing helped – Thor managed a watery smile. "You frightened me," he admitted. "I don't… I don't know your mind, Loki."

That had never seemed to trouble him before, had it. But Loki found his concern – belated as it was – a welcome change from his boundless selfishness and far too sweet to mock. "Neither do I on some occasions. But today, I promise you, I have no intention of dying." He gave his best cocky smile. "Trussed up like a pig is no way for the king of the frost-giants to go."

That won a laugh, but then Thor sat back on his heels with his eyes narrowed. "You  _frightened_ me. Do not try that again, brother. No magic is worth risking your life for."

Loki personally disagreed with that, but regardless, when the Drones came and ushered Thor away and re-tied their prisoner, he did not strangle himself again.

He fucking hoped Thor appreciated it. It was a miserable afternoon.

**************************************

TBC.

I'm really sorry about the delay and the shortness. The explanation for both of those things is that pretty soon in the story Loki and Odin finally talk… and they have a lot to say to one another. (Don't worry, I am not an optimist and I don't believe that Family Trumps All and reconciliation is always possible.) So I've been writing that scene, rather than finding the time for this one. Next chapter is going to be short again – it was originally going to be part of this one, but I didn't want to delay posting any longer! – and then, a chapter of Odin and gruesome and Loki off the deep end.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one got long, wow. Yeesh.

**  
**

***************************************

It was a point of pride with Loki to walk back to his room without help. He limped badly, stumbled several times, hissed and gasped and groaned. But he made it.

Having Thor trail after him begging "Brother  _please,_ let me help you," with more and more urgency made him feel quite a bit better.

"No," he declared once. "I don't  _need_ your help," another. " _Enough,_ Thor," he snapped at last, "I've grown used to it."

His steps left faint bloody smudges, but the robe they'd given him covered up most of his other hurts. When he reached his room he grinned at himself in the mirror. Let Thor whine and cry. He was fine.

***************************************

All silly pride aside, though, it really was nice to have help getting ready for bed. Thor got a handle on himself somehow while Loki ate and showered, and afterwards he was quite calm and steady at spreading salve over welts and massaging out sore joints. It helped. The deep ache in Loki's knees would not go away, but his shoulders felt worlds better after a rub. And his back muscles, which had lit up with sharp bolts of pain at every step, were reduced to jelly under Thor's powerful hands. He groaned, with pleasure for a change, and thought he might never move from the bed again.

"Legs too?" Thor guessed.

"Yes please." It finally occurred to him to ask: "I hadn't heard that you give massages. Which surprises me – I think I've… spoken to almost all of your girlfriends."

"Spoken to." There was amusement in Thor's voice. "I think those were not girlfriends, brother. They were…"

"Conquests," Loki finished for him, a little bitterly. A few of those  _conquests_ had been his friends before Thor got to them. And a few had only  _pretended_ to be his friends, until they achieved what they  _really_ wanted, which was the attention of his glorious brother. And afterwards, once Thor was bored, Loki had provided a shoulder for everybody to cry on… and more often than not got a lay for his troubles. A sad and weepy lay, an angry and vengeful lay, a sordid and self-hating lay. All of them leaving a rather pathetic aftertaste.

Thor was quiet a moment. "I am not proud," he said at last. "I was… not kind to those women."

"You were not kind to anybody." He'd shot it off from reflex more than anything else, but as soon as he said it he knew it was true. It sounded terrible, though. He moved to soften it. "But you were  _honest_  in your arrogance, at least." All right, that hadn't softened it much. Perhaps he was angrier than he realized. ( _Know your place, brother._  Thor's words still stung. It was the first time he had said it aloud, but Loki had felt it coming for years.)

Thor didn't defend himself – or apologize again, which would have been just as annoying. Thor  _always_  apologizing was almost as bad as Thor  _never_  apologizing. They would have to have a talk about that sometime, about finding a happy medium.

"How is this?" Thor asked eventually. "Too hard?"

Loki blinked, surprised. He had grown so used to being hurt and manhandled lately that it had not even occurred to him to complain. "Yes, actually it is. Ease up a little."

"Of course. Tell me where else I can help."

"Mm." Loki rolled onto his back and took stock of himself. He ached  _everywhere_. "Hip. Ass. Something," he said at last, sliding a hand beneath himself. "It hurt to walk. Here."

He realized afterwards that the spot he had indicated was not a spot one asked a brother to rub… but it didn't matter. Thor nodded and took hold of his leg. "Tell me when to stop," he said. He brought the knee up, and then sideways, stretching out the exact site of the pain.

"Careful – slow." Loki breathed deep and tried not to fight the position. Thor watched him, and pushed a bit further exactly when he could take it. "You're good at this."

"Yes." Thor's nose was in the air. "This may have escaped the notice of someone who diligently avoids the practice field, but yes: I do care for my brothers-in-arms when they're injured." He pushed further again, leaning, and now his face was just a foot or two above Loki's.

So Loki flashed him a smile and rolled his hips. "Especially Sif?"

"Oh, that's very funny."

"You must  _pray_  that Volstagg never pulls a groin muscle."

"And you wonder why they're mean to you," Thor said, but he was smiling too. He released the stretch slowly. "Other side."

Loki almost asked about them – about how they were, about whether they worried. He missed them. Volstagg had been the one who got him his first girl. Fandral had cleaned him up the first time he ever got puking sick with drink.

And Sif… well. Moments he had shared with Sif were maybe not so sweet, but they were… memorable at least.

He missed them. All of them. He missed-…

He had made them kneel.

The memory twisted his guts now, physically sickened him. Suddenly he didn't want to think about his friends anymore.

"Enough," he said, squirming. "Don't touch me. Let go." Thor obeyed, looking puzzled and even concerned, and Loki had a sudden overwhelming urge to snarl cruel and terrible things at him. He could. He could hurt Thor badly; savage him with words until he- "Sorry," he said loudly, over his own thoughts. Making Thor miserable would not help anything. And was not fair. "I just… don't want to be touched right now. It isn't you. You've been perfect. Thank you."

"Uh. You're welcome."

They stayed like that a moment, staring at each other, odd and formal and awkward.

Then the door opened and Drones filed in.

***************************************

They weren't supposed to come in at night! Loki held his breath. But the Drones weren't looking at him.

"Prince Thor," Four said. "Please come with us."

Thor cocked his head. Gripped his hammer. "Me?" He sounded almost amused.

"Your brother requires solitude tonight," the Drone explained, "To reflect. Tomorrow will be very difficult for him."

Thor shook his head. "He can reflect with me here."

The Drones didn't answer. They just stood, watching, and tension mounted. Then there was movement: Drone Three was reaching into a satchel. Something in there  _clanked._

The threat – whatever it was – was effective; Loki cracked immediately. "All right – all right." he said quickly. "Thor, go on. I'll be fine."

"Loki…"

It wasn't as though Thor was going to  _stop_ them. They were going to do whatever they were going to do, and in that case, it was better not to antagonize them. "Honestly. It's… better. It's fine." Drone Three was nodding at him, so he turned to Thor and gave his best, more reassuring smile. "Go on. I'll see you in the morning."

Thor still hesitated.

_"Go."_

At last Thor stood up. "Very well. But hear me well, brother: tomorrow will be the last. I have been patient with Father's commands, very patient, but I have now seen all I am prepared to see. He may ask you his questions, whatever they are, the questions that upset him so badly… but after that, we are going home. I give you my word I will not leave you in this terrible place any longer. Even if I have to challenge Father for his crown."

Loki did his best to smile as if he believed. "Thank you, brother."

"Sleep well."

***************************************

Once Thor was gone, Drone Three came and held out the binding rod. "Turn around."

Loki sighed and did as he was told. "No suspense, please," he said. "What's for tonight?"

"You'll know soon enough. Come this way."

The corridors were not lit at night, and Loki didn't much like walking bound. He stuck close to the Drone who carried a torch, struggling to keep up despite limping and stumbling and hesitating in the dark. "Where are we going?" he said.

A door opened. Not the door to the dungeons. This one opened to a rush of cool air, and an odd dripping sound. A… cave? Inside the building?

"Down, Loki. Don't fall." Drone Three put a hand on his back to balance him. "A broken leg won't help you any."

"I-… is this really necessary? Don't you have lights?" He groped down the first step with his toes, gritting his teeth at the roughness of the stone. "And why are you stairs so-…?"

The Drone stepped down easily, boots grinding. "We don't like them slippery. People fall."

Of course that was why. For his own safety. "Fuck you all." Loki leaned on the wall and went down another step.

"Swear all you like, if it helps. You can have shoes when you get to the bottom."

Once he had made his slow miserable way down the full staircase (a terribly long twenty-one steps) they did indeed give him shoes. In a manner of speaking. They were enormous soft furry things, ridiculous-looking, with ears and faces on them and Loki could swear that in better light they would be pink. He turned to the Drones to arch an eyebrow, but they just shrugged.

They unbound him, and he put the furry things on. He blinked as his eyes adjusted, and discovered: "There's no bed."

"You'll sleep here." Drone Four tugged him over to what was basically a slab of rock – and not even a smooth slab. On the floor in its shadow, Loki saw a glint that might be chains. "Lie down."

"Thanks, but I think I'd rather-  _AH!_ "

One of the Drones had shocked him, with some ominous-looking buzzing tool. He rubbed his elbow and backed towards the slab. "All right, all  _right_ , but just tell me what you're going to do. You're not going to tie me up and torture me all night, are you? I need to rest, you said it yourself, I need to-"

"Quiet," Four said shortly, picking up what was indeed a pair of shackles. "Feet go here."

Loki lay where he was bid, feeling worse and worse about tonight's prospects. Once he was stretched out he realized that the stone slab wasn't entirely flat; it actually curved just a bit, arching him backwards. Just a bit, just enough to make him feel extra-vulnerable when they chained him there in a spread eagle.

His eyes by now had adjusted enough to tell the Drones apart by their features. He found Drone Three's eyes (Drone Three was nasty, but at least he wasn't cold) and asked, again: "What are you going to do?"

A shrug. "We're going to leave you." Was it his imagination, or did the Drone's eyes flicker up to the ceiling for just a moment? Loki looked, but there was nothing there. Just the natural stone ceiling of a cave. Wet and cool.

He shivered, glad of his robe now and also glad of the ridiculous furry shoes. "Well… goodnight then."

"Goodnight, Loki." They went to the stairs, up the stairs, and shut the door behind them. It clicked.

***************************************

Once the Drones were gone, Loki really did spend a few minutes reflecting. But eventually his reflections were disturbed, by a noise from the ceiling above: a hiss.

Loki looked up, squinting into the uneven grey rock of the ceiling… and caught a flash of dark dark red.

There it was again – just a flash. A flicker. Almost like something's-… "Serpent!" he gasped, doing his best to recoil even though he was bound and spread-eagled and far too weak to struggle.

The serpent's head appeared, a vivid green, enormous, winding its way out of a crevice to dangle over him. The tongue tasted the air. The eyes locked on his and then, horror of horrors, the mouth yawned open.

Loki whimpered through grit teeth, squinted his eyes but didn't dare close them, tried to hold his breath in the hopes that somehow if he just held still, played dead, it would go  _away_ instead of biting him with those huge poisonous fangs.

He could actually  _see_ drops of venom collecting at their tips. He watched, mesmerized…

Until they dripped, onto his chest, hissing as they made contact with his robe.

They burnt through the cloth like a coal through paper. He craned his neck and saw smoldering, and a second later the burn was on his skin and he shouted in pain and surprise.

 _Poison. Acid. Something bad._  He glanced up to the snake with new fear, saw that it had not moved from its spot. Nor had it closed its mouth. And two more drops were already beginning to form up on those terrible teeth.

"No!" Loki shouted up at it. "Boo! Go! Get away!" He rattled at his chains frantically, to scare it, but the snake only tensed for a moment, and then ignored him. The drops fell.

***************************************

Loki was graying in and out. There was a coppery smell in the air. That was coming from his wrists, which he had rubbed to bleeding against his shackles. He knew the chains would not break, but he couldn't help himself – the poison had eaten away his robe and his skin, and every drop fell into a raw open wound, burning deeper and deeper.

He had first imagined it was meant to eat him away entirely, destroying all evidence of Odin's failed attempt at a foster-son, but then he realized that the snake was  _moving,_ shifting a few inches from where it had been, burning away fresh skin a little further up on his body. Slow, methodical. This was no dumb animal; it was clearly an enchanted creature, obeying somebody's instructions. And it either had instructions not to kill him… or instructions to kill him as slowly and agonizingly as possible.

Knowing the Allfather, it was more likely the former. He would be burned and tortured and left alive. But would he ever heal? And what happened when the snake reached his  _face_? His  _eyes_?

He had stayed quiet despite the physical agony at first, but the horror of that thought had him screaming. Odin was going to blind him.

He thrashed until his enfeebled body gave out on him, his muscles limp and useless, joints pulsing with hot pain. He screamed himself hoarse and kept going, screamed until he tasted blood and kept going, screamed until it hurt to draw a full breath.

When he had screamed himself to complete exhaustion, he had no choice but to stop panicking. He lay still, and at last realized that the snake had not drooled on him for several minutes. Perhaps his screaming was putting it off its appetite.

Just when he noticed that and felt glad, the creature flickered its tongue at him, shifted a little further down his abdomen ( _now_ where was it going to aim for?), and opened its mouth again.

The drops began to come fewer and farther between. Loki would have almost time enough to fall asleep (faint?), and then, just as he was slipping off into a dream, pain would surprise him. His mind did not appreciate the disruption; the dreams began to spill over into his waking nightmare, until he heard voices, mostly Laufey's for some reason, whispering and muttering and disapproving of him as he writhed and whimpered.

He did ask Laufey what he was doing here, but the only response he got was low mocking laughter, and then poison dripped over his belly and Laufey was gone. He thought perhaps Laufey wanted an apology, or perhaps that he meant to give one, for handing a baby over to the enemy who had just butchered his people. Or perhaps Laufey didn't care about any of that, and only wanted to discuss the wasteland that had become of the kingdom. They needed that casket back, they really did. It was so blue. Loki liked the way it felt in his hands. Perhaps Father would let him keep it; it  _was_ his by rights after all. His belly hurt. He needed to sleep.

Drifting in a half-awake stupor was the best he could do. He must have dozed a  _little,_  though, because when a click and creak and shard of light told him that the cave door was being opened, it jarred him fully awake and hurt his eyes; they had been closed.

"King Laufey?" he tried to say, but his voice was odd and hoarse and thick. He supposed that was what came of screaming half the night and muttering senselessly the other half. Now he really  _did_ sound like a frost-giant. Like father, like son. He laughed.

" _Loki!_ " A loud sound, a stomping, and then there was somebody standing over him. Loki blinked up, expecting blue and seeing blond instead.

"Thor?"

Thor was staring in horror. "Your chest…"

He tried to clear his head. "Why thank you, I hadn't noticed."

"I couldn't sleep. I came to check on you. Loki… brother, what have they  _done_?"

Loki saw the glint of fangs above him, and pressed his lips together to stay quiet. Thor saw him tense though, and followed his gaze up and realized where the injury was coming from. He stared.

Loki blinked sweat out of his eyes and tried to swallow to soothe his throat. "Can you break the chains?"

"What?" Thor said dully.

" _Look_ at me, Thor!" Loki glared into his eyes. "Focus. Where is your hammer?"

Thor shook his head, clearing away some of the stupefied look. "I used it to hold a door closed in the hallway above, so that nobody could come disturb us. I thought-… No!" He lunged forward as the venom dripped again, blocking with his hand, eyes wide as he watched it burn through his gauntlet. The pain drove a grunt from him and he looked down at Loki again. "I can't leave you like this."

"I certainly wasn't asking you to." Loki looked his brother over quickly. "Have you got anything on you that could-" He tensed and squeezed his eyes shut as new drops fell, but opened them in surprise when there was no burn. "Thank you," he said, and Thor accepted with a terse nod. "But you'll soon grow bored of taking my punishment for me. We need a more permanent solution. Have you got  _anything_ on you that could contain the poison?"

"No. Nothing stronger than my armor – and that doesn't work." Another burn came, and Thor's eyes flashed. He leaped onto Loki's rock, jumped and snatched the snake behind the head, and broke its neck.

Instantly it went limp, and Thor yanked it out and flung it on the floor. "There." His grin was huge. "I believe the problem is solved."

Amazed and delighted that it had been so easy, Loki found himself smiling back.

Until a soft hiss from above drew their attention. Another serpent was descending from the hole – this one bigger and, as Loki discovered a moment later, even more dangerous. The corrosive power of the venom made his eyes roll back in his head.

"Loki!" Thor jumped up on the stone slab, crouching over Loki, shielding him with his own body. "All right, that didn't work. I can stand and slay serpents one after the other if you like, but…"

"But they'll only come back, and bigger. Goodness knows what the tenth one will look like. No. We have to think of something else."

"Then I'll just stay here. Look: it's already healed." Thor held up his arm to show, then grunted and tensed hard as venom fell on his back.

Loki winced too. "Sorry – I'm sorry, I know it hurts. You don't have to…"

"Be quiet." Thor spoke with both firmness and calm, for him an unusual combination. "I will stay here. Rest."

"You're getting better at the  _commanding_ thing, brother," he mumbled. He fell asleep within moments, and this time Laufey did not come to bother him in his dreams.

***************************************

TBC.

Thanks for your patience everybody! Hope you're enjoying (horrified?). Next chapter is torture warning.  Odin is up.


	12. Chapter 12

A gentle tapping on his face finally pulled Loki from sleep. "They come, brother." Thor murmured. Then he laughed. "Or at least, they try."

Loki frowned and tried to put his thoughts in order. He shifted and couldn't shift far; he was chained. To a rock. Thor was straddling him, his usual good humor gone. The handsome face was tight and haggard-looking.

Thor's breath caught and he squirmed, and Loki remembered. Venom, dripping down onto him for who knew how long… no wonder Thor was in a bad mood.

"How are you?" he asked, and then replayed his brother's words in his mind. "And… what do you mean,  _they try_?"

"I mean I used Mjolnir to bar the doors upstairs. And by all the pounding and shouting I hear, it seems nobody has yet discovered a way of moving it."

"Ah." Loki shared a sharp smile with him – Thor was so rarely reduced to the level of impotent spitefulness, and it suited him beautifully. Still, he was in pain. "I don't suppose you want to stay here forever," he sighed. "Go on, then – let them in. And, Thor…"  _Thank you_  seemed so inadequate. Thor waited for him, but in the end he just shook his head. "You'll have to forgive me; the right words escape me at the moment but I'm sure I'll come up with them eventually. In the meantime… just know that I'm very glad you count yourself my brother." Thor's eyes were shining, and before he could get any more emotional Loki made a face to break the moment. "Go let them in, will you?"

Thor nodded, but once he'd climbed down off the rock he hesitated, arm still outstretched to catch the poison. "I don't want to leave you here unprotected."

"Well, we've already established that there's nothing here that can serve as protection. The serpent's venom eats through everything it-…" He broke off, as an idea struck suddenly. Then he hated himself – this should have occurred to him  _hours_ ago; pain and exhaustion really had made him stupid. "The skull," he said. "Thor. Rip the skull out of the dead snake and bring it over here. We can use it as a dish, it can't possibly burn through its own skull."

"Well done, brother!" Thor gave him a wide grin, then clenched his fist. "But when I move…"

He braced up. "Yes. I'm fine."

Thor darted away and returned in seconds, the dead serpent flopping in his hands. He stood ripping it up, foul thick blood clinging to his gauntlets, jumping to catch Loki's punishment for him whenever it would fall. (Although sometimes, intent on his task, he forgot. When that happened Loki felt some of the old impatience rising up, but he reminded himself that Thor was being more generous than he had any right to expect, and was doing a fairly good job overall, and he swallowed down any sharp  _pay attention!_ 's that rose to his lips.)

Eventually Thor had the skull free – a small thing, likely not able to protect Loki long. "Are you sure you want me to go?"

"Instead of staying here to burn yourself to death with no idea how to free me? Of course I'm sure." Loki winced when the gory little dish was rested on his chest, amidst the raw sticky remains of his skin.

"How is that?" Thor watched to see that it was positioned correctly. It caught the snake's poison, and did not dissolve. "Perfect!" He reached up to Loki's bound hands and gave one a squeeze. "I'll go tell them you are ready. Father should be here by now. We will endure this one last thing, whatever it is, and this night you will sleep in Asgard, in my chambers, where none will dare even think to harm you."

 _We._ Loki kept his mouth shut and just nodded. He watched Thor leave, noted that the clothes and armor had been burnt from Thor's back in big patches… and also noted that only a few ugly little sores were still open. The rest had healed already. In another hour he would look flawless as ever, no sign of injury at all. No wonder his approach to this horror was so cavalier. "Empathy is still not your strong suit, brother," Loki muttered under his breath, once Thor was safely up the stairs and out of earshot. He tried to relax back against the stone and wait.

He could vaguely hear commotion, and raised voices. He concentrated so hard on not moving that his mind began behaving erratically again; he had the strange idea that he wasn't chained at all, that he was just laying still because he felt like it, and in fact, if he was laying still on his own, then the chains had no business being there in the first place and would certainly vanish. He was  _sure_  they were gone. But he didn't pull on them, because if he did then they might be there again.

He almost wondered what was taking Thor so long, until instead he wondered what had possessed him to think Thor had ever been there in the first place. (But where did that skull come from?) At least he was still sane enough to remember that he had to control his breathing though; the dish was positioned on his chest so precariously that if he breathed too fast or hard it might tip over. If that happened, Loki was fully confident that the poison bath would kill him.

He lay still, eyes open though not really seeing much, and before long people were tramping down the steps. "Rise and shine, your highness," Drone Three called as he came over with keys. "Papa's here."

***************************

Loki was amazed at how much it hurt to stand up. For once the Drones didn't offer to carry him and he was glad; this time he would have accepted. Instead, they offered him clothes – real clothes. He put on the plain sandals they brought him, dressed in tunic and trousers that were his own, from his own room (at home) his own room  _in Asgard_. An inability to pull his own shirt over his head without pain – a movement he had made every day since childhood – drove home his condition like nothing else would have. He was completely physically wrecked. His fingers felt slow and stupid as he laced up his pants; he didn't even bother to lace the shirt because his shoulders throbbed when he brought his hands to his chest. Where his skin was gone his shirt stuck to him, and he did his best not to pull at it; the rasp of fabric over open wounds was unbearable.

It was worse when he was ready to go – walking hurt every part of his body, from his bruised-up feet to his dizzy head to his back that ached like an old man's. He took a bizarre sort of comfort from the terrible state he was in; at least this couldn't last long. Whatever they planned to do to him today would surely be beyond his endurance after just a few minutes.

"Don't fall," Drone Three said on the stairs. Right on cue his knee buckled, but he braced against the wall and caught himself quickly.

"Your concern is appreciated. Might I ask what is…?"

"Ask away. But I don't know."

"Surely you can make an educated guess," Loki suggested, silky. "Based on your experience." Treat any idiot like an expert and he will tell everything he knows. Sure enough, the Drone started talking.

"I can tell you it will be something extreme," he said. "Maybe the rack, a cross, rats. But you respond better to immediate escalation than to pressure over time, so, maybe a generator, wired somewhere sensitive. That would be my choice, if I were choosing."

 _Generator_ was a mystery, but Loki got the idea. And was heartily sorry he had asked.

Not that it mattered: when they reached the dungeons, the first command out of the Drone-in-charge's mouth was for Loki to be walked all around the room and introduced to the more spectacular pieces of torture equipment he had thus far avoided.

There were machines designed to pull joints apart and machines designed to crush bones together. There were setups to impale a prisoner to death on, and others that would impale a prisoner until he only  _wished_ for death. There were metal garments with spikes inside, and metal garments attached to a small stove, and metal garments wired to a device the Drone called  _battery,_ which appeared to bear safety instructions. Loki found that a little hilarious, but the new Drone-in-charge (Drone Six? Seven? A thousand? Loki had now lost count, and named him Big Drone instead) scooped up a device from a tray of pears and metal rings and other dreadfuls, and put a stop to the inappropriate giggling with it. "Spider gag," he offered helpfully, as Loki made noises. He held up a mirror. "See?"

His mouth was held open around an uncomfortable metal frame, bracketed by parts that did look a bit like spider legs. It dug in to his face and set his jaw to aching, and it also made him drool, which made him feel ridiculous which he supposed was the point. He sighed.  _Point taken._  He didn't laugh any more.

They walked him past flaying knives and branding irons, past whips and canes and scourges with barbs, past metallic sticks that pulsed with an unhealthy green glow, past vats of liquid, some small enough to force into him and other large enough to force him into. He noted that almost all of the equipment seemed to have come from Midgard, which would certainly be something to tease Thor about the next time he had a chance. You didn't see  _his_ people exercising their ingenuity in this way. For all he knew, there was no torture on Jotunheim at all. He'd have to ask someone that, someday. (It was better than allowing himself to think of these terrible articles, what they would feel like, what they could do.)

At last they stopped him before the dais he had been avoiding with his eyes the entire time. "Allfather," Big Drone said politely. "Allow us to present your son."

"Is he ready?"

"We think so."

Loki didn't raise his eyes from the floor. He was  _sick_ , positively sick at the sound of that voice, so cool and distant, right  _there,_ passing judgment on him like any common criminal. He waited for a rush of anger, but it didn't come. Instead he felt… ashamed. And  _then_ he was angry all right, but at himself. That he should still chase after Odin's regard after everything…

"Brother." Thor interrupted as they were dragging him away, and he finally looked up. Thrones - they were seated on thrones, harsh-looking old metal ones.

"Hng?" He said, through the gag.

"I have spoken to Father," Thor said loudly, "And he has agreed that I may take you home today. Be strong until then."

Loki gave him a nod, because he deserved it, but he wasn't feeling all that hopeful when the Drones finally ushered him over to a piece of equipment he had been rather hoping not to experience.

The rack. The thing that tore mortal limbs from their sockets, the machine that broke a prisoner slowly, inch by inch, destroying his body until he could feel the pieces come apart. He hated the mere  _idea._

Let alone the reality. It hurt like he hadn't dreamed when they bound his hands at one end and his feet at the other. He was so sore, so stiff everywhere, that even lying fully extended made sweat bead on his forehead.

He wanted to grit his teeth and couldn't even do that; damn the gag. It would come out before long, though, or else how did they plan to ask him questions?

"Draw it tight," Big Drone said, and Loki watched the other Drones move to a big lever. He was expecting a dull cranking noise, as befitted a wood-and-iron behemoth like this one… but instead, a Drone pressed at a button Loki couldn't see, and the rack drew smoothly apart.

He had to roll his eyes. All the rust was just for appearances' sake, then. The old blood was probably fake too.

He squirmed, trying not to mind as the rack was pulled taut. He wiggled his hands and feet until the shackles sat more comfortably; he tried to enjoy the stretch on joints that had been compressed and confined too long in recent days. Finally he was opened to his full length, as far as his body wanted to go, and just then the rack stopped moving.

Big Drone came and stood over him. "I assume you understand this machine, prince. Slow dismemberment unless you answer your questions."

Loki nodded. "How do you expect me to answer with a metal frame in my mouth," he said calmly, without making any effort to enunciate around it. It came out:  _Oweooepemeawasawiaweawaiaiow?_

In response Big Drone just signaled to Four, and the rack pulled tighter. Loki hissed and yanked at his chains.  _Now_ he was legitimately uncomfortable. It pulled again. And again. Finally he squeaked. It was steady hot pain to his shoulders and elbows, frightening pain because he felt stretched too far already and he knew they weren't done. Even once the tightening stopped, the pain didn't go away.

He flexed his arms, letting his muscles pull to take some of the strain from his elbows. It helped, a lot. He wondered how long his strength would last.

He hadn't  _meant_ to, but at the thought of strength his eyes went to Thor, who was already shifting restlessly in his seat. "All right, there, it's hurting him," Thor said, nudging Odin's throne with his boot. "Now ask your questions."

 _Nice try, brother._ Loki didn't look to see what Odin's reaction was, but next, Big Drone stepped away. "Get the gag off, and get me a torch."

Loki turned his head to let them get at his mouth, and pursed his lips once the metal was gone. His head still hurt. The next time he had a moment he was going to learn some healing spells, and learn them properly. Vanishing and re-appearing parts of his own head had apparently not really done the trick.

A hiss from beside him drew his attention. He turned and saw that what Big Drone was holding was like no torch he had ever seen. It was a metallic canister with a tube on the end, from which issued a small, neat blue flame. Loki could feel its heat from three feet away.

"His feet are sensitive," Drone Three offered. Loki would have glared at him, if only he'd dared take his eyes off the fire.

"And his hands?" Big Drone said. "Tell me, prince: which hand do you favor – left or right?"

Why – so they would know which to cripple? Loki shook his head.

Big Drone didn't ask again; he just moved around to the head of the rack, and passed the torch at some distance back and forth over all of Loki's fingers.

At first it was just heat, pleasant even, but then the heat began to sting, and then to really sear, and Loki struggled and yelped and finally said "My right!"

The heat made another pass. "To write with?"

"My right!"

Another. "To fight with?" It passed more slowly, burning hotter, longer.

"My  _right_  I said, are you deaf? Stop it!"

"And to spellcast?" Back... and forth...

"My- my right, I cast mostly with my right," he babbled as fast as he could, "I can use both but I mostly use my right,  _enough,_ enough I said! What do you  _want_?"

When the torch was finally withdrawn his hands felt stiff and swollen. It hurt to flex them. He wanted to know if he was all right or seriously burned, but he couldn't see for himself. So he looked up at Thor, and saw him sitting stone-faced and with his fists clenched. Not too bad, then. Or else Thor would be on his feet shouting again. Loki relaxed.

… but not too much, because when he forgot to pull with everything he had, the strain fell on his elbows and it was already unbearable. And they had hardly even started to crank.

As if reading his mind, Big Drone put down the torch. "You're not ready for questions yet," he said. He told the others: "Give it a few turns and wait a while. And cut that shirt off - we should be able to start soon."

***************************

Some time later, Loki stepped away from the rack, sighing deep. It felt so  _good_ not to be trapped in that body, which had been cranked and stretched for an hour now. The strength of his arms and legs had finally been used up completely, so that no more resistance was possible, and there had been nothing to keep pressure off the weak little tendons of his elbows and shoulders and knees. They were tearing, fiber by fiber. He felt it, could feel the injury as it happened, and it was agony. Terrifying as well, because the tension was so complete, perfect; there was not one more speck of slack in any part of his body. If they cranked any more, something was going to rip out of its socket. He guessed it would be his shoulders. The pain pooled hottest there, shooting bolts of fire down his rib cage and through his neck, flaring with every heartbeat.

Even breathing had hurt, and he was trying to do it as carefully as possible.

The rack was indeed as terrible as Loki had been led to believe. But they had made a mistake in leaving him there lying still, to stew in his misery, to  _let the rack do its work_ as Big Drone put it. Because without any new torments to distract him, Loki was able to summon himself up and flee the scene. He was getting quite good at this, actually.

He twisted side to side, stretching himself out, enjoying the freedom.

"Loki."

A voice in his ear – his ethereal ear right here, and not his miserable racked ear over there – made him jump.

"You," he hissed at Odin, who was standing cool and shining beside him. (And also, still, seated unmoving on his throne.) "Why would I hallucinate you of all people? Go away."

"You are not hallucinating."

He blinked. Yes, he was. He was completely mad. And now he was arguing with his own hallucination. "I don't want to talk to you."

"I'm afraid you have to. Would you rather do it here, or over there?" he nodded towards the rack.

Not much thought required to answer that one. Loki faced the Allfather squarely, clasped his hands behind his back, and prepared to be interrogated. He nodded, crisp.

But Odin sapped the steel from his spine with just a gentle smile. "Come. Walk with me."

***************************

TBC.

(For the Odin-haterz among the audience: don't worry, Loki is not a pushover.)

And the gore's not over, sorry. The real ick comes next chapter. But this was getting too long, so I broke it here.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TORTURE WARNING. The first segment of this chapter is okay, but if you're torture-averse you will want to avoid the second part. In fact, you may want to avoid it anyway. It's pretty harsh.

 

**********************************************

Loki glanced to the rack. "Is it all right if I…?"

"I won't let you go too far. Come."

It was so easy to just fall in step beside him, too easy, but eventually Loki gathered up the courage to break the silence. "You can't expect me to just stroll around and, and have a chat with you, after…" he gestured around the dungeon.

"Of course I can," Odin said, unruffled. "A  _chat_ is long overdue – recent events aside, I owe you answers."

"So it's my turn to ask questions." Loki let Odin see his gaze wander, gravitating towards a rack of whips. "Very well: did you ever love me?"

"Loki. You're too intelligent for that," Odin chided. "There is no point asking questions whose answers you won't believe. But of course we love you; you are our son."

"No. I'm Laufey's son, you said." Short and clipped. "Who was my mother? Does she live?"

"I don't know. I found you in the temple, alone with the priests, as I said. It seemed they were performing some ritual – you were surrounded by runes and candles."

"Runes, what runes? Do you know what they were?" The sorcerer in him was itching to get a look, to find out what powers he might have, what curses he might be under.

"No, I'm… sorry. It was so long ago, and my vision was…" he touched his eyepatch.

"Impaired." Loki nodded. "So impaired that you mistook me for another treasure to lock in the weapons vault."

"Loki…"

"So tell me why you took me."

"I have told you…"

" _Tell me._ "

Odin sighed. "I thought… very well. The battle was dying down, the war was over, but I knew there would not be peace. Not true peace. Laufey and I could never form that between us. But our children, united, could unite our realms. That was my hope."

Loki blinked. "You make it sound like a wedding."

"Exactly."

Loki frowned in confusion. "To whom?" There was no one, no daughter of Asgard of rank to marry a prince. When he realized what that must mean his eyes got wide. "You planned to have a girl child? To… to give her to me?" A beautiful Aesir girl, golden-haired, docile and loving… born and bred solely to become his. Loki almost lost himself to a daydream. "I would have liked that," he admitted at last. "I would have been good to her."

"Loki…" Odin looked extremely uncomfortable. "That's not…"

"…What you meant?" Of course not. When something sounded too good to be true, it usually was. Loki drew himself up. "Then tell me what you did mean. No more lies, old man.  _How_ did you intend for me to unite our kingdoms?"

No answer. Possibilities ran through his head. Perhaps he was to be a hostage, kept prisoner until a Jotun female of noble birth was offered up in exchange. Or, perhaps he'd been deliberately raised a weakling, expected to fall to Thor in combat at the appropriate time someday, proving once and for all that Asgard had mastered that miserable little race from that miserable little realm. "Don't be a coward – how many frost-giants did you kill?" he snapped. "You can chop them to pieces and kidnap their children, but you can't look one in the eyes and tell the truth?" His voice was rising. " _What_ was your plan?"

"Enough, Loki," Odin said, sharp. "You  _will_ treat your father with respect." He heaved a sigh, almost pitying. "The truth? The truth is you've been able to shift your shape your entire life. Since your infancy."

Loki still didn't understand.

"I walked into Laufey's temple and I saw his baby. I thought how convenient it would be, how perfect, if we could heal the wounds of our lands through a permanent, loving union. A marriage, yes." He sighed again. "Thor had just been born, and I hoped against hope that when I picked up Laufey's child, I would see that it was a girl. And…" he shrugged.

Loki felt his eyes growing wide. " _No._ " So now he was not only a monster… he was a  _woman_ too. Everything about him was a lie.

He retched, for no reason he understood, and bent to throw up on the floor. When his stomach finished turning inside out, he realized there was a firm hand between his shoulderblades, the same hand that had always been there to help him wait out an upset tummy. He pulled away. Tried to calm down. Noticed that although the vomit  _felt_ real enough, there was nothing visible on the ground. Interesting.

"I think you took that the wrong way, Loki," Odin said – sounding, gods curse him,  _amused_. "You were never female. Only disguised, matching yourself to the image you thought would best please me. You were such a gifted child." He laughed softly. "When I realized I'd been deceived, I was so proud of you. So proud to have you as my son instead."

Loki's eyes stung. Under guise of wiping his mouth, he wiped them with his sleeve. He turned away, and watched himself on the rack. His ribs, too thin, spreading like wings when he breathed. Sweat glistening on his sides. It helped him feel a little more detached, a little less overwhelmed.

"Tell me more," he said, cool. "About myself, as a child. Things from before I would remember."

"What do you want to know?" Odin was standing at his shoulder, watching the rack as well. Loki wondered if it had the same calming effect on him.

"How about… the first time I met my  _betrothed_. Did I think him handsome?"

"Don't be obscene. By the time we introduced you we knew what you were," Odin said. "If we hadn't, we would have learned then. Thor pulled your hair – it was fine and black, as it's always been – and you grew so angry you tried to freeze him. You were a fierce little fighter. He screamed, you screamed, and by the time we separated you, you were blue and Thor was frostbitten. We were terrified it would heal with scars."

That sounded… very true. Loki would have smiled, until it occurred to him: "And how did you teach me not to do it again?" he asked, sounding so bitter it hurt his own ears. "More torture?"

"Call it that," Odin said, still peaceful. "We banged loud noises around you until you grew to fear the transformation. We cuddled you in your adopted form, and put you down if your skin started to cool. You were a very quick learner, Loki. Before long you looked unfailingly Aesir, and in time… we all rather forgot."

"How nice for you."

"You wanted truth." Now he sounded only weary.

After what he had been through, Loki could match his weariness without a thought. "I wanted your love," he corrected, without any heat behind it at all.

"You had it. Have it," Odin added, "If you're still interested."

Loki watched the rack, saw his body shudder, the head lolling to the side. "I think I've had enough of your  _love,_ Father." Finally he turned to face him square and said: "How could you do this?"

"I want to ask you the same question. Among others." Odin reached out and touched his arm, and Loki wished he had the strength to pull away. "Are you ready?"

"No – can't we stay here?" He sounded so desperate, so needy. He hated himself perhaps more than ever.

"We're going back, Loki."

"Father, no," he begged. "I can't."

"Don't lie to me." Odin's voice was still gentle. "You can and you will. You are my son, and you are strong enough."

"Father…"

Gentle, but inflexible. One might as well plead with a piece of wood. " _Come_ , Loki." He held out his hand, and Loki saw no choice but to take it.

***********************************

Odin was able to return him to his body without any pain at all, but the moment he opened his eyes and took possession again he was reminded why he had fled in the first place. His arms and legs would not move. Pain gnawed at his joints, consuming them. Even breathing was a trial; his shoulders were held so hard up, and his hips down, that every shift of his chest hurt. His condition had certainly worsened in the minutes he had been gone – the rack was working.

"Did I hallucinate all that?" he gasped.

Odin spoke up from his chair. "No." Then he rose. "I would like to ask about his plans for his brother."

The rack tightened and Loki swallowed a scream. It was incredible force, lines of fire up and down his torso as his very  _spine_  came under strain. He was literally coming apart. His elbows were a mass of pure white heat, his arms paralyzed – they no longer even felt like limbs.

Drone Three stepped into his line of vision. "Let's talk about your brother, Loki." But Loki's eyes were on Odin, wild.

"You should worry about my plans for  _you_!" he screeched, past caring that screeching hurt. "You, I saved your  _life_! How could you do this? I'll destroy you!" Afterwards he kept going, a wordless shriek that sounded demented even to his own ears. But it was a fitting expression of the pain he was in. Somehow, the screaming helped him. When Odin at last stepped down from the dais, he was able to quiet down and glare, murderous.

Odin failed to be intimidated. "You would make a formidable enemy, Loki… but I am confident I would be a match for you. It is Thor I am concerned for; you're ten times the strategist he is, and much stronger than I ever realized."

Loki wanted to laugh, and then did. Loud mad laughter, laughter that hurt all the torn muscles of his abdomen, laughter he couldn't control. Because finally,  _finally,_ here was an affirmation of Odin's esteem. Though not quite under the circumstances he would have wanted.

"Loki!" Bizarrely, a Drone stepped in to speak into his ear, interrupting their family quarrel. Loki closed his mouth, and the laughter still bubbled up rough in his throat, but at least he could hear over it. "Loki. You can't let go; you have to calm down. You have to cooperate. People have  _died_ here."

Odin wasn't going to let him die; he had already asked for death and been refused it. Still, exercising every bit of discipline he possessed, drawing on memories he didn't like, Loki was able to stop laughing and get his straight face back. "Fine. Ask your questions."

But first the rack moved, and his world exploded.

His shoulders. It  _was_ his shoulders, pulling free with a deep wrenching sound, first one side and then – after a second of shocking  _emptiness_ where he felt like one arm had disappeared completely – the other. He  _heard_  the pulling, but the clunking shift of bones he  _felt_ instead. His chains were suddenly loose, but he still had no ability to move his arms; it was like he didn't even have any. It was bewildering, too much pain to process, just a debilitating flash that was all he could see, hear, feel.

"Take up the slack."  _That_ he heard, and the rack moved again, opening further until his ruined shoulders were again under tension. The ghastly strain was familiar at least, almost a relief; his arms weren't completely disappeared after all. They must still be attached, because they could still hurt.

There was a faint metallic taste in his mouth, and a harsh grating noise he only belatedly realized was coming from his own throat. But the rasp was  _good;_  if he concentrated on rasping like that he could not scream, and screaming was bad because it would ask too much of his breathing muscles. They were having a hard enough time just keeping him alive.

Eventually a strange sensation on his side made Loki turn his head. He realized that Drone Three had touched him, just a fingertip to his ribs, but as overtaxed as his nerves had become, he registered the touch as a strange full-body pulsing. He shivered, which awoke pains everywhere, and began to whimper.

"Take a moment," Drone Three said. "Get ready to answer questions – and you had  _better_  give it your best efforts. Can you hear me?"

Loki's head twitched. It was meant to be a nod.

"Blink twice if you can understand me, Loki."

He blinked twice.

"Blink twice more if you're lucid enough to continue."

Loki let his eyes flutter closed and stay there.

The Drone laughed. "He's lucid," it called. "He's thinking just fine." Another touch, just the gentlest brush against his skin, but still Loki could hardly bear it. "Now open your eyes, or I'll get the torch."

What he was feeling was so overwhelming that he could hardly wrap his mind around the  _idea_  of fearing the torch, much less actually fear it… but on the other hand, if this was what a fingertip felt like then what might the torch do? Loki opened his eyes.

"Answer me in words now: what's your name?"

He whispered it: "Loki."

"Your  _full_  name."

"Loki Odinson.  _Oh-!_  Wait, no I'm sorry, I'm not-"

" _Stop_. Odinson is fine. That is your name. How did you heal yourself of your sunburn?"

Words were hard and he could only manage a few at a time. "I… shifted. Into Jotun form. The burn cooled."

"Have you heard this puzzle before? A man has a cabbage, a goat, and a wolf, and a boat that only transports one at a time. Have you?"

Loki let his eyes drift close. "Yes."

"What's the answer?"

"A moment." His mind was scattered into a million shards. They were slipping through his fingers. Marshalling thought was a battle, but he was patient, and eventually he managed. "Bring the goat and row back. Bring the wolf and row the goat back. Bring the cabbage and row back alone. Bring the goat."  _And then kill and eat all three of them, for being part of such a stupid puzzle._

"Correct. Have you heard this puzzle before? A king's two sons have been set to compete for his crown upon his death. They mount their horses and ride-"

"No." He wasn't much in the mood to hear about a king's two sons. And the puzzle didn't ring any bells anyhow.

"Well, then listen carefully. They mount their horses and ride as slowly as they can; they ride maybe a stone's throw the whole day. And the next. But on the third day they whisper together, and then they jump on the horses and ride as fast as the beasts will carry them. What was the nature of their father's competition?"

"I- I don't know! I've never heard that before in my life!" Loki heard his voice rising almost to a squeak. He couldn't, he  _couldn't_ be made to suffer for something as stupid as this.

"You aren't trying."

He heard the hiss of the torch being activated, and continued to panic.

"Focus, Loki. We won't burn you while you're thinking. Begin: at first they ride slowly…"

"At first they ride slowly." He squeezed his eyes shut and bore down hard. "Right: they ride slowly. So their father's told them to go slowly, or at least that's the obvious interpretation of whatever he's said to them. But then they speed up… after they've conspired together, they've put their heads together, what have they planned together?" He was muttering aloud. "We haven't heard one is the cleverer, so the new plan is mutual, so what have they both to gain? Well a race to see who can go slowest will go on nearly forever; it's in their interest to avoid that, but how, one minute they're trying to be last, then they're running as fast as they- no not running, they're  _riding,_  so then the horse is important, the horse _s_ , they thought at first they were meant to ride slowly, which arrives you last and your horse as well, only now they've lost interest in arriving last, so it's not them it's the horse that matters, so yes your own horse can arrive last if you race upon -  _He's left his kingdom to the son with the slowest horse,_ " he finished in a rush. "Slowest horse. And they traded horses."

"Well done," Three said.

He opened his eyes in time to see Drone Four set down the torch, unused, and take over questioning. "Have you ever disobeyed a command of the Allfather's?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever tricked or convinced others to do it in your place?"

"Yes. Many times."

"Do you not realize that that is treason?"

"It's just for fun. I haven't hurt Asgard," he hissed. "I wouldn't."

"And when Thor is king? Will you disobey his commands as well?"

All Loki could do was wheeze and whimper. There was no answer that would keep him safe. "What do you want me to say?" he asked at last.

"Envision your brother as king. Right now. Nod when you are envisioning it."

Loki closed his eyes, drew up the memory of the coronation. Imagined its end. Himself watching from the sidelines, Thor triumphant with all of Asgard kneeling before him. He nodded.

"In your mind, are you kneeling?"

His heart stopped: he was not. He started to wheeze again, terrified. "Please."

"Loki." The rack shifted, and pain flared up in his arms so badly he had to look to make sure they hadn't been torn off. When he managed to focus his eyes on the damp trembling flesh in front of him, he saw that his shoulder was displaced so far his armpit was at the level of his eyes. His stomach clenched up and he was almost sick.

"Don't retch; it will not help. Answer the questions. You will not be punished for truth.  _Were you kneeling_?"

He still couldn't bring himself to say it aloud, but he made the tiny bit of movement he could manage without disturbing his shoulders, and shook his head. "Please don't, _don't_ – I'm sorry. I swear I-"

" _Creature!_ " A sure, loud voice put an end to Loki's pleading. He turned his head and saw that Thor was on his feet. "I will never ask my brother to kneel to me," he called. "And I will never send him back here, treason or not. So, enough of this questioning. You talk to no purpose."

At the sight of yet another figure standing over him with authority, Loki grew dizzy. He tried to hold on to the idea that Thor was on his side, but it was just too much work to pay attention. "Enough," he whispered, preparing to give up. Floating, empty. He couldn't answer questions about his own  _name_ now, much less answer logic puzzles. He felt warm. Abuzz with pain, but… quiet.

But just before he could pass out, Big Drone stepped up and spread a hand over his chest. The fingers pressed in gently, splayed over his ribs. It tickled, but there was no way for Loki to tense.

Then he forgot about the tickling, because the Drone produced in his other hand a sharp stiletto, and without any warning sank it deep between Loki's ribs.

********************************************

**TBC.**

I know that getting stabbed is a horrible way to end a chapter. Sorry!

In better news: next chapter is fairly short, and almost done. Should be up tomorrow.

Again, sorry. I did warn that this story was going to be pretty horrible.

Also: thank you guys so much for your thoughtful and detailed comments.  Every thing you say makes me think and get excited to write more.  


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There's a bit of Thor-bashing here, but take it with a grain of salt; Loki's having a hard time.  
> Also, obviously, TORTURE WARNING. The last one.

 

******************************************

Loki gargled.  _Help._ Now he wasn't warm or floating in the least. Thor shouted and jumped from his seat again… and as Loki looked to him in panic, he was forced back down by several Drones and a binding rod. No help from that quarter. Odin hadn't moved. Loki stared down at his chest, at the  _blade,_ protruding from his fucking  _body,_  where he'd been  _stabbed,_ and he felt it but he was still too shocked for it to hurt much…

Then Big Drone pulled the blade out, and he started to suffocate.

He  _couldn't breathe._  He was sucking with all the strength that remained to him, but it was not working, he was  _dying_ , he sucked and sucked and got no air.

"Loki.  _Loki._ " All of a sudden it was like a weight had been lifted from off his chest; he filled with sweet blessed air, and he summoned up the huge amount of energy necessary to bend his neck and see what was happening.

Big Drone was pressing something over the wound, some sort of bandage, sealing off the hole. Now he was able to inhale and hold it. "Loki: answer truthfully if you want to keep breathing. Is that clear?"

He nodded, slamming down on panic.

Drone Three stepped up. "Do you keep a candle lit at night, or do you sleep in full dark?"

"Full dark," he answered at once, gratefully. An easy one. But the talking hurt.

"You may whisper. Do you comb your own hair, or it the job of servants or lovers to comb it for you?"

"No… neither."

"Elaborate."

"It needs no comb. I've spelled it."

"Does it need cutting?"

"No. Unless I choose."

"Good, all right. It's the Allfather's turn now." He beckoned for Odin, and then moved around to the foot of the rack. "And remember: if you answer with silence or with lies, then that dressing will come off your chest." And then, as if any further threat were necessary, the Drone poked Loki's foot to make it twitch, which lit his whole leg up with fresh pains – his muscles, his knee, his hip. The tension he was under was impossible.

"Loki." Odin's voice. He closed his eyes, but still could feel the Allfather's gaze on him.

"… Listening."

He was braced up for something terrible, but all Odin did was ask, mildly: "Has your brother been good to you, these last few days?"

"Yes. Helped me, worried for me. Sacrificed for me. He's been  _sweet._ " Of course he would want to know about Thor above all else.

Perhaps Odin heard something darker in his voice. "But your anger remains."

His eyes snapped open and he spoke with force. "Thor shat on me our entire childhood; do you really expect me to forgive all that because he held my hand for a couple of days and gave me a backrub?"

Odin made a short gesture, and the torch hissed to life.

"In other words  _yes,_ yes my anger remains," he amended quickly.

"How much anger? Would you have killed him?"

"Would I-? Of course not!" he snarled. "Why does everybody ask me that?"

"You attacked him."

"It wasn't going to  _kill_  him. For the love of… You know Thor is never going to fall in combat!" He had to calm down; vehemence was physically painful.

"Then, why? What did you want?"

Loki closed his eyes, remembering it. The hot rage, digging deeper and deeper for insults to make Thor-… "I wanted to  _fight_." To fight and fight until all that remained, was the fight. He'd wanted to fight until he could forget what caused the fight, and just… fight.

"Though you knew you would lose." Odin sounded only politely curious. "Did you  _want_  to lose? To have Thor beat you senseless, as when you were children and that was the only way he knew to silence you?"

"And he was good at it, wasn't he," Loki hissed, vicious. "Did you know he once cracked four of my ribs,  _cracked my ribs_ , with his bare hands, and I had to put them back together myself because we were worried he would get into trouble if anybody found out."

"And why did he do that?"

(Because Loki had written a very unflattering song about Thor and a donkey, and found a singer greedy enough to take his money and sing it in public. And then taunted him about it, cruelly. But Thor had deserved it!) "How should I know why?" he snarled, still full of righteous anger. "I was  _eight_!"

"Loki…" The Allfather sighed deeply and reached out towards his chest. "You were ten, as you know perfectly well. And you still remember the words of that awful song."

"No-  _no!_ " he barked in panic, but it was too late; Odin had peeled up the covering from his chest wound, and suddenly his breaths could not sustain him.

"Please." He was gaping like a fish. Wheezing. Panicking. "Father no…"

"Let me know when you are ready to tell the truth."

"Please – please, I'm ready, please. I can't-…"

"… Breathe. Yes, we know. You can't breathe. But you may breathe once you answer me. How old were you when Thor broke your ribs?"

"Ten. He was eleven. Father…"

"Calm down and you'll last a few minutes longer. How did you feel? Angry?"

He could still remember the shock of the thought that  _this was it._  It had hurt to draw breath. Rather like now, actually. "No. Afraid at first. We thought I was dying. Afterwards... I felt stupid. Should have stopped him. My fault." He huffed what would have been a laugh. "The anger came later."

"At him?"

"No. Not his fault. He told me – and this was… possibly the only time… Thor has ever impressed me with his intellect." He took a moment to gather himself. "He told me I fight with words and I never pull my punches. Said it wasn't fair he should be expected to pull his." He rested again. "He was right. And still sorry. But the stairs weren't his fault. Nor landing on top. We made up. The anger was for the rest of you. You forgave him unjustly. Always. Father… I need…"

"Yes – almost. The other day: did you mean to goad Thor into beating you into submission, or did you try to win that fight? Think."

He couldn't think. He couldn't  _breathe._

"Loki? Your fight with Thor."

The fight. He remembered the fight.

"Were you trying to win?"

"Yes," he whispered, wasting as little air as possible. "Trying to win." He remembered flying at his brother, slamming into him, the  _rage_ … reveling in the power of Odin's staff, and concentrating so hard to control it. "Carefully," he clarified, remembering.

Odin grew still. "You were not aiming to kill."

 _Notice how Laufey is in pieces and Thor is not._ That was too much to say, but Loki saved up enough breath to get out a few words that mattered: "No. But Thor was."

An anguished cry from up on the dais, and Loki turned to see Thor struggling against the magic that bound him. The sight was marvelously cheering; clearly, suffering was transferrable. He wondered what else he could say… but he was getting lightheaded. " _Now_ ," he gasped. "Or he may get his wish."

" _Loki!_ " Thor almost wailed. "Father, enough!"

Odin sighed and replaced the patch, and waited for Loki's head to clear. "So you held back deliberately," he pressed after a time. "Why?"

Loki shook his head frantically.  _I don't know_ had never been considered an acceptable answer in this room and he  _could not_ cope with having his air taken away again. But… he didn't know.

"Loki?" Odin's hand hovered over his chest. "Answer me."

He tried to think. He could remember all-consuming rage. Remember the desire to blast at Thor so hard the ground would shake. He could also remember  _not_ using the staff to obliterate… but he could not remember any reason why. There was no reason.

"Loki?"

" _Don't,_ please don't," he pleaded at last, hysterical. If he didn't answer, Odin would kill him. If he lied Odin would kill him. But if he told the truth, Odin would kill him for  _sure_.

"Why did you restrain yourself?" His fingers found the edge of the patch. "The truth, Loki. Now."

He gave up, in desperation, and just admitted what was probably going to get him killed. "There was no reason! I  _didn't_ plan to restrain myself, I didn't think of it, it wasn't part of a plan. I'm sorry, please I'm so sorry. I meant to fight with all I had, please, don't, please forgive me I shouldn't have and I'll never ever raise my hand to my brother again  _please._  Father please don't, I can't,  _please_ …"

He had used the last of his air to plead with, and was crying too hard to take in more.

Odin moved his hand. "All right, Loki. Stop. Hush."

"No," he whimpered as soon as he could.

"Hush." Odin shook his head. "Don't apologize. I believe you, and that is exactly what I needed to know." Loki didn't follow. "It was not calculation that stayed your hand, but love," Odin explained. "It's what I had hoped. In the grip of even the most powerful rage, in possession of fantastic power, you would keep your brother safe. You did. Well done." Loki still didn't grasp the full meaning, until Odin beckoned for Drones and added: "It's over. Nobody will hurt you again."

Letting his chest hitch was a horrible mistake but Loki couldn't stop sobbing.

******************************************

Of course, if he was expecting an immediate end to his nightmare, Loki was disappointed. As soon as the Allfather pronounced it  _over_ Thor was released and tried to run to him, but was prevented. Odin stood in his path and snapped at him about care and patience, and let the Drones explain that the rack had to be unwound slowly or could cause further harm.

It seemed to take forever; Loki kept hoping to faint but did not manage. He did black out when the Drones guided his shoulders back into their sockets, but he woke up again soon after when someone's sharp hot burst of magic was laid down over his chest, pulling closed his stab wound.

"Don't do it, Loki," Odin warned, when he started to draw forth more of the power. "I'll restore you what is yours once we are home. Not here. I'll explain later." As soon as the hole was closed Odin sent the sorcerer away, leaving everything else still unhealed.

Next his chains were removed, and even though he could breathe now and his limbs were all arranged properly, he made no attempts to rise.

Thor was standing over him, constantly doing things that hurt: touching wrists that were chafed raw, crying salt onto a chest covered in open poison-wounds, stroking hair that was attached, however distantly, to a spine that had suffered grave insult. Finally Loki had to shoo him away.

Odin took his place, and was even worse – he ran fingers over the ugly puffy area around Loki's shoulder, which made him convulse in pain. "This is swelling already – how long until bruising is visible?"

Big Drone looked him over, assessing his skin tone, the marks he had already. "Not long. You'll see it darken soon, and by tonight he'll be a horror-show."

Odin stepped away. "Then he may leave tonight. Make him comfortable until then – but without magic, and without clearing up any marks."

Drones buzzed around him, covering him up, turning on lights against the dungeon gloom, giving him ivy. He had no energy to do anything but watch.

"Why?" Thor wanted to know. "Why must he go home looking three-quarters a corpse?"

Loki began to titter. After everything Thor had witnessed,  _this_ was when he chose to ask why?

"How can you  _laugh_?" Thor demanded.

A Drone answered – Drone Two, who Loki hadn't seen in days. When had he arrived? "Because that IV is morphine."

Loki was still giggling. He meant to ask what  _morphine_ was, but instead he pointed out: "You've been put on cleanup crew," and then he was suddenly diving into sleep, too rapidly to say anything else.

******************************************

When Loki awoke, Odin was gone.

He felt less mad, but no healthier: when he tried to sit up, all he managed to do was hurt himself.

"Shh, all is well, Loki. Once you awaken we are leaving."

He turned his head and saw Thor. "Help me up," he rasped, almost a whisper. Thor looked doubtful. He did not want to explain the way resting on the rack made his skin crawl, though, so he just added: "I have lain here long enough."

"Of course. As soon as you feel able, we will go."

When Thor pushed his blanket away and eased him to a sitting position, he began to whimper. Something hurt. He was  _miserable._

"Where?" Thor said.

 _Everywhere._  But before he could answer, footsteps on his other side scared him and then there was a Drone, Drone Two again, brandishing a binding rod. Instantly his blood pounded in his ears and he began to struggle – weakly.

"Do not fight. This will help." It folded his arms over his chest, one at a time, and sealed them there. That took some of the awful weight off his shoulders, and he stopped making noise. The Drone pressed the rod into his hand and closed his fingers around it. "Here – that is the release."

So he would be taking the binding rod home with him. What an interesting toy. Loki found himself wondering: what was it made of? Did it need a power source? Could it be operated by magic? Could it bind people to each other, or only one person to himself?

"Loki?" Thor touched him on the arm, and he winced. "Are you ready?"

He was cold now, now that his blankets were gone. "Where's..." It came out just a hoarse whisper. He shook his head, cleared his throat and tried again. "Where's my shirt?" He shivered, which hurt everywhere but... duller than before. He suspected he had the ivy to thank for that; it was gone but some of its fog remained.

Thor shook his head. "Father asked me to return you shirtless. Bruised and unbathed. He didn't say why." He frowned. "If he wants you paraded around in shame and weakness, I'll have no part in it. Tell me what you want me to do."

Loki smiled at him, fondly. Who was kneeling before whom again? Although, to be fair, he  _did_ outrank his brother; he was the king of the frost-giants and Thor still only and ever a prince. Odin wasn't going anywhere. (Without help, that is. A thought Loki set aside firmly, at least for now.)

"Loki? What do you want me to do?"

He tried to pull himself together and plan. "I want you to bring me home, and parade me around as Father ordered," he answered.

"You don't deserve-"

"It's best - this may sap everyone's desire for revenge a bit. The last thing I want is people coming to court clamoring to have me punished." He resolutely did  _not_ look down at himself. "I think just now I look punished enough already. Nobody will suggest anything more gruesome than this."

Thor swallowed. "It is indeed gruesome," he offered at last.

"I can fix it all once I get my power back," he assured, even though he had no idea whether that was the case. He made a face. "Um. But in the meantime I don't think I should walk. Or can."

"Of course, of course." Thor hovered. "I will take care, but when I pick you up it will still probably hurt."

"I imagine I can handle it."

It did, and he could.

******************************************

TBC.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick word on Odin: I think I don't have as much hate for him as some of you guys. I do think it's pretty messed-up that he does things to his children like sewing their mouths closed or leaving them to have their eyes eaten away by snake venom for eternity (in legends), banishing them by physically throwing them off a multi-world cliff (in the movie), or sending them away to be tortured (this story). On the other hand, there actually is an other hand. Thor and his friends, including Loki, routinely leap into battles just for funsies and come home all fucked up. Thor actually enjoys getting punched in the face by a giant hard enough to throw him through the air. We saw Fandral get fully run though by an ice spike, and everybody took it in stride, and within a couple of scenes he was completely fine. Odin in legends carved out his own eye, and in the movie seems to have lost it fighting and carried on business as usual to the point of deciding that this was a fine time to negotiate a peace treaty and adopt a new kid, all while blood was still oozing out of his empty socket. Basically, I get the impression that they are differently calibrated than we are with respect to what kinds of things it's okay to do to your body. Not that I would minimize how much Loki's experiences here sucked for him - he endured everything alone and scared and without whatever magical resilience Asgard people apparently usually possess. I'm just saying it's entirely possible Odin didn't consider this as unreasonably barbaric as we do. Which makes him somewhat less culpable, in my view.
> 
> All that said, though, Loki has been totally messed up and you don't have to worry about a daddy-i-wuv-you ending from me.


	15. Chapter 15

**  
**

********************************************

Thor said he had been told to take Loki straight to the main hall, and did so without bringing him to his rooms for clothes first or to a bath and in fact without even putting him down for a moment. By the sounds as they approached, it was clear there was some sort of festival in progress. "What is this?" Thor murmured.

"I suppose we'll find out soon." They took a long deep breath together.

"Are you ready?"

"Does it matter? Go." Loki steeled himself for a circus as Thor stepped out from behind the curtain into the great hall itself.

He was not disappointed. A collective gasp went up. The music stopped. Everyone turned to look. The room went completely quiet and the crowd parted, and Thor, resolutely ignoring all of it, strode towards the dais where their parents stood waiting.

Loki had used his binding rod to seal one arm around Thor's neck. The other hung free, which was agonizing, but necessary if he wanted to present himself most artfully. His shoulders were each a mass of dark red-purple bruising, swollen and hard to the touch, and his chest was covered with burns and bruises and weeping sores. He had in the end opted not to remove his trousers, although he had left his battered feet bare. He knew he looked awful, and completely out of place in the charmed golden halls among Asgard's best and brightest.

He would have looked no more inappropriate if he'd shown up blue.

Half-naked and half-dead, with everybody's eyes on him, in the main hall in the middle of a festival. One had to hand it to Odin for creating the most stylish pillory possible. He listened carefully and heard only horrified whispers, which was good; if anybody laughed at him he would take names and once he got his magic back it would cost the fool his life. Or hers.

But no one did anything except draw away and whisper.

When they reached the Allfather, Odin nodded a solemn greeting. "Set him down."

Thor barely moved, but Loki clicked off the binding rod and suddenly had no ability to hold on. He slid down into a heap, laughed because here he was kneeling after all, but before he could comment to Thor about it Thor was crouching beside him. "Lean on me."

He let himself be pulled to his feet, and by an immense effort of will managed to stay that way, leaning on Thor, sweating with the exertion of keeping his knees from buckling.

The crowd was murmuring, shocked really, but then Odin held up his hands and true silence fell.

 _Here it comes._ It would start with something like  _As you see, Loki Liesmith has been punished for his crimes._

"Between them, your princes have just averted a war," Odin announced. "They have shown strength and courage in the face of terrible hardship, and they have prevailed." Loki tried to keep his face neutral, instead of letting it go stupid with confusion like Thor's. "So tonight we celebrate the safe return of Thor and Loki. Let the feast begin."

********************************************

Clothes were brought for Loki, but he refused all attempts to take him to a healer. "The first thing a healer would do is put me to sleep," he said, with a passable imitation of a laugh. "I would rather feast first."

"Are you out of your mind?" Thor muttered to him, sticking tight by his side as the adoring crowds closed in on them.

"Father apparently wants this public," Loki hissed back. "I find I'm not in the mood to cross him just yet."

The truth was he didn't  _dare_ to cross him. The Allfather was a master liar and tactician. His story would be told and remembered and believed, because after tonight no other interpretation of recent events made any sense. Odin and Thor and Loki stood smiling together and greeting the people as happy father and sons. After this, tales of disownment and betrayal and violence between them would sound completely ridiculous.

He  _hated_ that he was party to the plan, that it hinged on his cooperation. ( _Have a seat. Face front; don't be difficult._ ) But he saw no choice. He did move to get a little of his own back, by dipping his head to Odin with an icy smile, to show what he didn't quite dare to say.  _The God of Lies salutes you, Allfather._

Once people got drink into them and grew hungry for exciting stories, the princes were pressed for details of their  _adventures._  Loki sighed. "I'm afraid I am too exhausted to do the tale justice," he said, "And I'm afraid Thor has drunk too much mead."

Odin was watching from down the table. "Tell them at least a little," he urged.  _Lie to them._

Perversely, Loki decided to utter only truth. "There was… someone who wanted to renew the quarrel with Jotunheim," he began. "Somebody smuggled some angry frost-giants into our realm, and turned our Bifrost into a weapon to smash theirs. Father sent Thor to Midgard, and me to… to get answers." He shrugged, smiled his most sheepish and charming smile. "Thor did very well, but I'm not the fighter he is. He eventually came after me, and brought me home."

"My brother has been hurt as you see, but also, his magic was sapped," Thor added unexpectedly. "As soon as we have some quiet tonight, Father is going to sit down and restore it."

Now that the crown prince had said so to everyone in the middle of a feast, Odin would have to perform. Loki would have kissed him if he weren't so exhausted. "Well played, brother," he murmured as soon as they had a second to lean close and talk privately.

"You as well. You can weave a glorious lie from nothing but plain truth. Consider me impressed."

"I plan to lie at least once with every breath from now on. I've told enough truth in recent days to last a lifetime." Then his eyes widened. "There I go again – even  _that_ was truth." Thor laughed, plainly relieved now to see him joking, and Loki pushed another drink towards him. "Call for another toast. The sooner everyone gets drunk, the sooner I can leave."

Thor seemed only too happy to help.

********************************************

The next morning his body would not cooperate with him. "Thor," he croaked, lying on his back, in misery and unable to move any part.

"Loki! Morning, brother." Even with his voice thick with sleep, his hair hopelessly ruffled ( _Do you comb your own hair_ ), Thor looked brilliant and impressive. Loki resented it, hard, as Thor vaulted up into sitting position and stretched his arms over his head. "Don't move – I'll go get Father and you'll have your magic back in a few moments. He didn't want to do it while you were asleep. Are you… is it all right if I leave you?"

Last night it had not been. Loki cringed a little when he remembered grasping Thor's hand so hard his own wrist hurt, hissing  _Don't leave me_ and  _Move the bed_ and  _I sleep against the wall._  But that was silly, and in the light of day he had to make himself understand that it was extremely unlikely anyone was going to come take him away. All Asgard had greeted him as a hero last night; Odin would have a very hard time explaining what had happened to him if he vanished again.

"Go," he said. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine. But you will be in a moment." Thor patted him on the shoulder, which made him seize up with a terrible noise. "Oh-! Forgive me, brother, I-"

"Go, you idiot."

Thor went, and once he finally had privacy it was time to look himself over.

Even getting out of bed was going to be a problem. He rolled carefully from his back to his stomach, groaning as the weight passed over his hip and shoulder, and once he was on his stomach was able to wriggle slowly and painfully to the edge of the bed. Once there he took a moment to catch his breath, and tried to envision a way of standing up comfortably.

There was none. So, he grit his teeth and squirmed a little further, until he fell out of the bed onto the floor. The shock and pain of the fall were so great that he was able to drag himself to his knees without noticing any additional hurt at all. His whole body thrummed with pain, his joints creaked with every movement, but on his knees with his elbows on the bed he thought he was going to be able to stand. The muscles that were supposed to stretch him out had suffered much less abuse yesterday than the ones that were supposed to pull him together.

He counted to himself, and on  _three_  heaved himself up to his feet. He clung to the bedpost; if he fell now this would all be for nothing. After a moment he decided he was swaying, but fairly stable. He reached for the fastenings of his tunic, got them open after a lot of effort and groaning, and wiggled out of it.

Leaning on the wall, moving slowly as his legs buckled over and over, he made it the few steps to a mirror, and made himself look.

When he did, he shuddered so hard he almost fell over again. His chest looked  _rotted,_  like a month-old corpse, mottled reds and blacks and greens, shreds of flesh loose and hanging. He raised a hand to touch it, shaking, unable to believe that someone could survive in such a condition…

 _Oh_. Not shreds of flesh; the bits that hung off his chest were fuzz from his clothing. Wincing, he picked one off, revealing the stinging raw spot underneath. He felt a little better: he wasn't rotting, just filthy. Still, the hideous dark swelling over his shoulders was no illusion. It was ugly, and spreading – deep blue bruising had swallowed up his collarbones and started moving down his ribs. ( _He'll be a horror-show.)_

He tried to touch, but raising his opposite arm that far was too hard and he had to give up. Instead he shuffled a little closer to the mirror to get a better look, and was just leaning in when someone cleared his throat from the doorway.

"Loki? Father's here."

He turned from the mirror as fast as he was able, mortified for some reason that Thor and Odin had seen, had watched him licking his wounds, even for a second. He didn't like it. But they were here to restore his powers, so he tried not to glare.

Thor took one look and brought a fist to his mouth, so before he could be sick on the floor Loki explained quickly: "Not as bad as it looks; that's just dirt. Just dirt. It's fine."

"Not fine," Thor insisted again, and stepped aside to let Odin work.

The Allfather spread his hands, closed his eyes, and Loki felt glorious  _something_ wash over him, filling him up with power, warming him in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. He brought his hands together and formed a ball of light, just because he  _could,_  and floated it off through the air. "That's much better," he said, smiling. But he felt too naked smiling, so then he said: "Father, I'm sure you're very busy," and bowed, just a dip of his head really but even that was almost too much pain to bear.

Odin sighed at him and went out without a word. Once he was gone, Thor came close and waited, expectantly, fists on his hips. "Well?" he said. "Come, fix yourself!"

And there it was again, that odd resentment. "Be patient, brother. Don't push me." He summoned his tunic with a flick of his fingers, and used magic to put it on.

"But surely you want to be better without wasting another second? Come, work your spells. You could be good as new already, in the time we've stood talking."

Good as new. All traces of his ordeal erased.  _(In time, we all rather… forgot.)_ "How nice for you," he murmured, remembering. Thor looked confused. "I don't think I  _will_ fix myself," he clarified. "I'm sorry if it inconveniences you, to have an invalid for a brother. I'll go back to my own chambers tonight so as to be out of your hair."

"But – Loki!" Thor laughed, uncomfortably. "Don't be perverse. First, you're staying here. And second, do  _not_ refuse to heal yourself! That is foolish, and you are no fool. Whatever you are trying to say or do, there surely are better ways than walking around like a-"

"I can't walk, actually," Loki interrupted. "Only stumble."

"Loki!" His voice cracked. "Please, I can't see you like this."

"Then you are more than welcome not to look." Loki gestured, waist-level because it was too hard to raise his arms, and a cloak materialized out of the air to settle over him. But the heavy velvet set his shoulders throbbing, so he winced and lightened the weight with a thought. "Now if you'll pardon me, I want a bath."

Thor stood, not understanding, and Loki did not help him, and they faced each other in silence for long seconds. Eventually Thor started, realizing that he was being thrown out of his own chambers. He ducked his head. "As you wish, brother. Call for me if there is any way I can help." He was already edging towards the door.

"You can help by  _not_ going straight to Father about this," Loki said, a cold smile curving his lips as Thor's jaw dropped. "Please, of course I can't read minds. You're just as obvious as ever."

"Loki-"

"I said I want a bath. In private."

Thor set his jaw and left, and Loki took a moment to savor his hurt before confronting the logistics of making his way across the bedroom.

**********************************

TBC.

As to how much further we're going to continue: not too much further. I have an ending in mind and I think you'll like it and I'm nearly there (maybe 3-4 more chapters?). It'll have some degree of closure, but it's not going to cover longterm Thor/Loki relationship-building. If I did write that, I think I would do it from Thor's POV instead of Loki's.


	16. Chapter 16

Loki considered himself a realist; taking a stand was all very well and good, but it didn't help anything to be unable to leave his bedroom. So, he compromised to the extent of spelling a little stability into his legs, and spelling water directly into his stomach when he thirsted because the act of drinking still made him queasy enough sometimes to throw up. He also lay protective magicks over the corrosion on his chest; he did not want more dirt to get in and frighten him again.

Other than that, though, he remained exactly as the Drones had left him: limbs stiffened, flesh bruised, jaw creaking. He prowled the halls – slowly! – in a long cloak with the hood drawn up. He ate alone, and not much. He spent his time poring over sorcery books, trying to learn more about spells that sapped magic and spells that constrained it – just in case.

He saw no one, except for Thor, who quickly learned not to talk unless he wanted to be verbally savaged to the point of tears. They developed a routine: Thor came in every night (never complaining that Loki had transformed his rooms into a messy hermit's lair), asked about his day and received no answer, and lay down in bed with a sigh. But Thor lying stiff and uncomfortable was not very reassuring, and so once the lights were off Loki would reach over and squeeze his hand, or whisper  _goodnight,_ or  _thank you, brother_ , or even, after his swollen shoulders had had a week to return to more normal proportions, curl on his side so that Thor could hold him. Thor would let out a deep breath and relax, and sometimes, though he clearly thought Loki did not notice, weep.

One night the Allfather appeared instead, entering the room without even a knock. Loki heard him coming, though; Thor's step was distinctive and the only one that didn't set him on edge.

He cloaked the room in darkness,  _real_ darkness, the kind a simple lamp or torch could not penetrate. "Good evening, Father," he said, as steadily as he could.

Odin didn't mince words. "Loki, you can't stay in here forever."

"I've said I'll be happy to go back to my own rooms. Thor is the one who insists I remain."

"Don't pretend to misunderstand. This pigheadedness does not become you."

"No, that's Thor's prerogative, isn't it," Loki snapped. It was childish, he knew it, but he couldn't stop. "There can only be one stubborn ass in the family at a time."

Odin sighed, and gave up. "Very well. If time alone is what you truly desire, you can have it," he said. "I will seek you out again after more time has passed. But until then, my son… if there is any way I can help you, you need only ask."

 _I'll never ask you for anything again._  But Loki sensed that it would lose force if he said it aloud, so he answered only: "Good night, Father."

That night, in the dark, he asked: "Did you put him up to that?"

Thor seemed delighted for conversation of any type. "No. In fact I have been trying to keep him away. Is that wrong? I had the impression you did not want visitors. But if you'd have companionship I will gladly-"

"No, you're right, I don't." It was easier, he realized suddenly, to talk in the dark. It was rather like talking to himself, which he did almost constantly. (He had spelled his words to be inaudible to all others; the last thing he wanted was to be overheard in his madness.) "How is Mother?"

Thor only sighed, but it was somehow both sad and reproachful, and it got the message across. Loki didn't want to hear any more.

"That's answer enough," he said shortly. "Fine. I'll come to meals with you then. Some time big and noisy so that there's no serious conversation. I'll smile and talk and set Mother's worries to rest. All right?"

"You do not wish to come."

"No." Loki meant to shrug, and winced. "But Mother doesn't deserve to be upset."

"You are very generous. If I were in your place, and I didn't wish for company…"

"You do sulk like a champion," Loki agreed, chuckling. He rolled carefully onto his side. It was the first face-to-face conversation they had had – even if it was in the dark. He was breathing hard with the movement, trying to get the pain under control.

Thor had learned to avoid suggesting healing spells, but tonight he tried something new. "Would it help if I massaged you?"

Even the  _thought_ of Thor's huge hands made him wince. "No – don't touch. Not yet."

"What about shifting your form?" Thor asked suddenly. "If they can grow spikes of ice and then return to normal, surely they could… I mean, it must…"

" _No._ " He meant it to be the end of the discussion, but Thor as always did not take the hint.

"Why not?"

"There are a thousand reasons. It probably wouldn't help. I don't like the feeling. It's not safe to be Jotun here. I'd give you frostbite."

"That's only four reasons, and they are not good ones," Thor argued, stubborn. "It  _might_ help, I'd protect you, I don't fear frostbite, and whatever the feeling is it cannot be worse than what you're feeling now." He'd become heated, frustrated, which Loki found highly satisfying. He thought of more provoking things to say.

"Just wait until you're king – then you can order me to change form whenever you like."

"I would-!" Thor began with force, then stopped himself and took a breath instead. Under tight control – or, the closest to tight control that Thor could ever manage – he explained: "I would never order you to do anything of the kind. And more importantly, brother, I don't want to wait until I'm king to see you better. I want you well  _now;_ I have never seen anyone I love so hurt, for so long."

He sounded like he might choke up in a moment, which made Loki scoff, "Oh, stop it, I'm fine," before he could really consider the words. Then, once he did consider, he laughed.  _Fine_?

Thor apparently had the same thought. "You lie."

"I do." He was still laughing. "I really, really do."

*******************************************

In the morning he sent Thor to breakfast alone, without telling him the real reason: if they showed up together and only one place had been set, Loki would laugh and throw up and destroy the table, all at once. "I want to finish something I'm studying first," he explained. "But tell them I'm coming to dinner, and to have something spectacular for dessert."

Thor did as he said and appeared at dinnertime to escort him, as if he thought Loki wouldn't show up otherwise. They entered the hall together with arms linked (at Thor's insistence, although honestly Loki appreciated the support; falling down in front of his family and friends was really not an auspicious beginning to his new position as hero).

People greeted him with an odd wariness, as if his bad fortune were somehow contagious, but it was  _polite_ distance, deferential even, and enjoyable after he had so often experienced the opposite. The table was already mostly full and he had to sit several seats away from Thor, which he did not like, and next to Sif, which he liked even less.

From the outset he could feel Sif's eyes on him, but he pretended not to notice. Instead he pretended to eat his food. He wasn't in the mood to eat. Just when he'd finally steeled himself to take a bite, and was in the process of choking it down a bone-dry throat, Sif said, quietly and with suspicion: "What happened?"

It took him time to finish swallowing, which was good because it gave him time to decide on an answer. "Ask Thor."

"Thor won't tell us anything. Only that… all he'll say is that something awful happened, and that you were brave. He doesn't seem to feel betrayed. He laughs when I remind him that you had him slain by the Destroyer. He  _laughs_ , Loki."

"Thor has always laughed after a good fight," he pointed out, reasonably. "He and I have resolved that business about the Destroyer; it won't happen again. Now if you don't mind, I'd prefer not to discuss family affairs just now."

For a moment he thought she was actually going to let it lie. But then she added, almost under her breath: "If you ever play him false again..."

She would threaten him? At his own  _table,_ and with his powers restored? Did he command so little respect…

Out of nowhere, rage drained the blood from his head so quickly that he grew dizzy. He took a deep breath and waited for the feeling to fade, and then said, once he could sound calmer: "You'd like to know what happened? Very well, here's a taste." By the way Thor had been looking at him lately, he knew there was something wrong with his eyes - they must be different now, darker, haunted perhaps. Damned if he wouldn't use it to his advantage. He licked his lips slowly and faced her, holding her gaze with his. Sure enough she swallowed and drew away. "I  _felt…_  my limbs," he whispered, "Torn… slowly… from their sockets. I was hurt until my mind fractured – literally fractured… until I could actually  _see_  the pieces of it dancing around me."

He felt his lips spreading into a smile, and knew from the look on Sif's face that it was a good one. So he went on. "I screamed, and I begged for mercy, and I begged for death. But I was refused all of it, and I had to endure.  _And I did_. So please, Sif… please tell me, because…" He laughed a moment, spread his hands. "Because I am, I  _am_ curious. You saw what I looked like when Thor brought me back here. What exactly do you plan to threaten me with that you think could cause me even a moment's fear?" He faced her with a smile, eyebrows raised, waiting.

She mouthed without words. Finally she managed: "Loki…" And still he waited. She swallowed. "Are you mad?"

It wasn't an insult – it was just a question. And not a bad one, actually. He laughed again, genuine amusement this time, if a little dark. "I don't know. I think I might be."

Again she was at a loss for words and, having had enough of Sif for the time being anyway, he turned from her and made a show of paying attention to the rest of the conversation. Thor was telling Midgard stories to the table, and they were adoring him – as always.

"…thought me hurt, though I was not hurt, and mad, though I am not mad." He was in his element. "So they took me to a place for people both hurt  _and_  mad! They laid me out on a table as if they planned to eat me." Laughter all around. Speculation about what a good feast the God of Thunder might make. "And I could not even rise up and refuse them, friends, because they lulled me to sleep with some evil potion, which they poured straight into my-…"

Their eyes met, by chance, and Thor's words stopped suddenly. The joy drained from his face and he looked ill.

"-… Veins, brother," Loki finished for him from down the table. They would have to talk about this. Thor simply could not be allowed to fall apart at every reminder of the dungeon - especially when he himself did not. Here: he would set an example.

Loki gave what he hoped was an untroubled smile, and it seemed to work because nobody else wore that horrified look he'd managed to put on Sif's face earlier. "The machine is called  _ivy_ and the potion,  _morphine."_  His tongue did not fail him; the words came smooth and cool and easy. "If any of you ever find yourselves hurt, and mad, and on Midgard, I earnestly suggest that you try it. If it could make  _Thor_ feel too peaceful to fight, imagine the bliss it could bring to the rest of us."

While people giggled, he locked eyes with Thor again and signaled for him to go on.  _Please don't task me with the entertaining of idiots,_  he begged silently.  _I never had a talent for it and I'm sure I'm less capable today than ever._

"Yes! Peaceful I was," Thor went on, forcibly returning himself to exuberance. "Until I awoke, and discovered that they had clothed me in a woman's dress! Truly! I pity the madmen and invalids of Midgard, friends, if that is how Midgard routinely treats them. Well. Then after I fought free of Hospital…"

Loki turned back to his plate, and occupied himself with gradually vanishing bites' worth of it, so that it would look like he had shared in the meal.

*******************************************

He  _thought_ he had done a fine job of looking well and being charming, so he was annoyed that his mother descended upon him the moment he rose from the table. She radiated concern. "Loki, my son." Frigga slipped her arm through his before he could pull away. "Walk me to my rooms."

Was this punishment for his stubborn persistence in refusing healing? But he didn't complain, only grit his teeth and walked the extra distance, politely answering her polite empty conversation.

When they reached her door he planned to bow her in and then vanish, but she abruptly nudged him inside and, with his total lack of balance and grace, he stumbled three steps into the room before he could catch himself.

He heard the door lock. That could not be good. "Mother…"

"Hush, Loki." Frigga's voice was soft as ever, but as ever there was no disagreeing with her. "If you'll tolerate Thor and you'll tolerate your father, then you'll tolerate me. Lie down and let me see."

He glowered. "I won't wipe away my injuries just to make Thor more comfortable and ease the Allfather's conscience." Too late he realized he had left her an opening:  _what about to end a mother's pain_ or something equally heavy-handed, and he would have no way to refuse.

But what she said was: "Of course not, dear. Now lie down." Patronizing in honeyed tones,  _too_ honeyed to be anything but a joke, and Loki was effectively amused. He sat down, carefully, on her low couch, and lay back at her gesture. She settled down in a chair next to him. "All right, show me: where does it hurt?"

His jaw dropped. That was straight from his childhood, and his eyes blurred immediately,  _tears,_ as they always had once he heard his hurt validated. He placed his hands over his ribs and concentrated, vanishing his tunic, and swallowed over the lump in his throat. "Here – for starters." Frigga sucked in her breath.

"Oh, Loki." She reached out… and then frowned. "You've charmed it. Take that covering off."

Instantly he felt much less like crying. "I said I will not wipe this away."

"I'm not telling you to wipe it away," she answered, calm. "I'm asking you let your mother try to ease your suffering. As I've always done." Then she sighed. "Don't be this way, Loki. Not to me."

He scowled, but at the floor, and removed the enchantment. Feeling about eight years old.

Frigga laid both hands over his chest and closed her eyes. Touch hurt, but he held his tongue. After a moment he felt her energies – weak and warm, nothing at all like the Allfather's or his own, probing at him. "And I don't want to talk about it," he added into the silence.

She answered without opening her eyes. "If I ever asked questions about these things you would have stopped coming to me for help long ago. Now settle down."

He felt her warmth penetrating his skin, his muscles, his very  _bones,_ strengthening him and soothing the hurt. Of course she was not strong enough to truly  _heal_  him, not of injuries like these… but he did feel better. He relaxed under her hands and made a pleased noise in his throat, which didn't even mortify him as it should because this was just Mother. It was all right to purr like a kitten for her.

Eventually she let go and sat back. "When you were small I would ask  _all better?_ , but I know that you aren't, so I won't."

"I'm some portion better," he said, truthfully. "Thank you."

She watched him conjure a shirt. He tried to put it on by hand, and barely managed. "Loki… why?" she asked at last, and he hated that she could not just leave well enough alone. "Why not just go down the weapons vault and pick up that casket for a moment – you'd have the power to fix yourself up whether or not you know any real spells for it."

He had to laugh. "You think Father would let me anywhere near the frost-giants' treasure?"

"Your father loves you and wants you well. He believes your heart is in the right place. And the casket belongs to you – he always intended you to have it someday."

"Did he." Loki felt his eyes narrowing. "Has he told you to talk to me?"

"No," she said serenely, and he believed her. "Just think about it, Loki. And in the meantime, turn over." She plucked at his waistband. "Move these out of the way."

" _Mother._ "

She just  _looked_ at him, and there was no arguing with a look. Loki heaved an enormous sigh and arranged himself face-down on the couch – carefully! – and vanished his trousers.

She didn't say  _oh Loki_ again, but he heard it in the way her breath caught. He kept his voice even. "Is it that ugly."

"No." She settled hands on his calf and he felt them warm. "The  _thought_ is certainly that ugly. But your wounds are healing well. Keep still and let me concentrate."

He realized then what  _effort_ it cost her, the simple attempt to help bruises that were already clearing up on their own, and he began to feel guilty. He could do this to himself with hardly a thought; it wasn't right to make his mother-

"Hush." Apparently she could feel his unease. "Let me." He hushed, and let her warmth seep into him, moving up his leg. Before long he was lethargic, and she took advantage of his silence to  _talk_ to him. He did not have the energy to stop her. "I wish you would reconsider using your powers for this," she murmured. "I know the memories must be ugly, and they will remain long after your wounds are gone. But that is no reason for you to continue to wear the wounds too." It was a good point, he reflected lazily, and decided to think about it more later on. For now he just kept silent, and let Frigga move to his other side and bless that too, warming and loving and  _helping,_ and afterwards all he wanted was sleep.

So he dragged himself to his feet and dressed and prepared to make for Thor's rooms. "You're welcome to nap here," she offered, smiling as he shook his head. "But no, I knew you wouldn't. Your father only likes to sleep where he feels safest, too. You're more like him than you realize."

His sense of well-being vanished abruptly, and he ducked away from her attempt to hug him. Anyway he was too old to be hugged. "Mother, stop it. There will never be a reconciliation between the Allfather and me, so just… don't."

"I hear you, Loki." Her smile was benign as ever, but something in her tone was a little off. There was a second half of the sentence, he could hear it, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it might be. While he just stood and tried to think, she came up and caught him successfully in her arms. "There. Now go get some sleep. I love you."

He left, and walking back to Thor's was not quite so difficult as walking had been earlier.

*******************************************

TBC.

So I think my Frigga has a shade more cleverness and backbone than we saw in the movie. All of her dialog there was super-sweet and compassionate, but I think that can't be all there is to her because 1) would Odin really have such a lame consort, and 2) she attacks a frost-giant with a sword. So, while I've tried to keep her sweet and soft, I've also given her a bit of a brain and a spine.


	17. Chapter 17

He was going to see the Allfather. He was going to see, and make demands of, and argue with, the  _Allfather_.

He could hardly believe how thoughtlessly he had once abused this possibility, running to Odin with every little question and concern, debating with him about pets and bedtimes and helmets and girls. Now he could hardly bring himself to say good morning. It wasn't  _fear_ , exactly. He didn't think Odin was going to  _do_ anything. It was just…

It was just that he was finally treating Odin as the powerful and terrible god he was, instead of the father he had always pretended to be. Loki couldn't fault himself for that; it was definitely safer, and wiser, and more true.

But he still had to go see him. He was tired of feeling vulnerable and afraid, and an audience with the Allfather would cure that… provided he managed it properly, and got his (outlandish, impossible!) request granted.

One did not approach the Allfather in lazily-conjured clothes and fuzzy slippers. (Loki had researched the name of the footwear the Drones had given him, and made himself a pair. They were soft and warm and completely useless for fighting, a nice change from what he was usually expected to wear.) Rather, he would have to go back to his own rooms to dress and make himself presentable. He wanted Thor to go with him, but he missed his chance when Thor rose early and vanished for the day, and had to wait until evening. He was furious that the idea of going alone made him anxious. It was just his  _room._  There was nothing there to be anxious about.

"Where were you?" he snarled when Thor came home that night. It was himself that he was annoyed at, but snapping at Thor was still a positive pleasure when it made Thor go all flustered and guilty.

"I- I was-, I was, I did not know you wanted my company today, brother."

"Well, I did. I wanted to go to my room." He sounded like a querulous old woman and for that he hated himself, so when Thor offered to accompany him right away he said thank you, and plucked candy out of the air as a peace offering.

Thor ate it – he would eat anything – but pointed out genially: "Sweets are  _your_ favorite – if you really want to impress me, you should learn to conjure a full drinking horn."

 _(Drink.)_ A phantom cramping overtook him and Loki had to pause to steady himself. But he recovered quickly, so quickly that perhaps Thor had not even noticed. "So… tell me about your day," he said, anything to distract himself. "You aren't all sweat and mud today; you haven't been fighting. What were you doing?"

"I do other things besides fight, brother," Thor said loftily. But he was blushing.

A petty little mystery was pleasantly distracting, so Loki pressed on. "If you don't tell me I'll guess, and I guarantee that what I come up with will be even worse than the truth. It will involve women, and horses, and mixing up the two."

"Brother…" Thor sighed, but told. "Do not laugh. I was with tutors. I have asked to learn history and languages and statecraft, all the lessons I ran from as a child. I ought to know these things for myself."

 _…instead of relying on you,_  was the unspoken half of the sentence. Loki supposed he couldn't blame him, but still it hurt. "Wise of you; we frost-giants aren't known to make good counselors."

"What?" Thor looked startled. "Oh no no, of course that's not what I meant."

He was making eye contact, which meant he wasn't lying – Thor couldn't tell a lie while staring into your face. Loki would have to cure him of that someday; it was a rather serious handicap. He thought hard for what else Thor might mean, and at that moment almost tripped on the stairs when an unexpected pain shot from his hip.

Ah, of course. "Then it's because you were frightened, realizing how fragile is the shell that holds your pocket library. I could get hurt again someday, killed even, and then I wouldn't be around to-"

"Loki!" Thor looked distressed. Very strange.

Another explanation presented itself and the strength drained suddenly from Loki's legs. He leaned against a wall, but that wasn't enough and he slid down to sit on the floor. Better to sit on purpose than to fall. "He's sending me away again?" he whispered. Power crackled in his hands at the thought, uncontrollable, and he knew he would not allow himself to be made helpless again. He would hang onto his magic and die fighting to protect it, he would-

" _Loki._ "

The voice came from far away, and when he blinked himself back to lucidity he saw that Thor was crouched in front of him, holding both his hands and wincing. "Thor?"

"Enough, brother. You're burning me."

Loki looked down and realized that sparks were still sputtering, and jerked his hands free and quieted his power. "Then don't touch, you idiot." Of  _course_ nobody was sending him back to the dungeons – what a stupid thought. He hadn't done anything to deserve that and Odin wouldn't do it without reason. Besides, he had his magic now to defend himself with, and also, he could get Thor to protect him. Everything was  _fine._

He let Thor haul him to his feet, and tried to remember what their conversation had been about before his moment of pathetic contemptible panic. "Then if not any of that,  _why_  would you think you finally need to study your lessons?"

Thor rubbed the back of his neck. "I did once imagine that anything I didn't want to worry about I would just hand off to you. I've decided that that would not make me a very good king."

Loki snorted with laughter… and then realized he was  _serious,_  and laughed harder. Classic Thor. "You planned to leave all the work to me, and take all the glory for yourself?"

"I didn't-…" Thor pressed his lips together. "I didn't  _plan,_ " he defended, almost sulky. "I just… assumed."

"You planned to leave all the work to me, and take all the glory for yourself." Loki repeated it with some measure of pride. "I think you're more intelligent than I ever gave you credit for, brother."

******************************************

They ended up staying in Loki's room. Loki had meant to stay in there alone, but when he said  _I think I should try sleeping in here again_ Thor had immediately shrugged and asked for sleepwear. It went surprisingly well. He had thought his old room would seem haunted, an artifact of another time, but other than a brief stab of memory when he cleared pillows from the bed  _(Six, I have six, please stop)_ everything was fine.

In the morning they dressed – Loki manually and without help now; it was painful but no longer impossible – and went to Odin's together.

He received them in the big master bedroom, as he always had in the days when they were family, but Loki stayed hovering by the door. "I've come to make a request, Father," he said from a distance. He glanced at Frigga, who was reclining in a chair reading.

Not reading. He knew the expression on her face when she read; it was soft and open and rapt. But now he could see that her brow was creased, her eyes just slightly narrowed. She was concentrating – listening. What was she listening for?

"Come in, Loki. What request?" Odin was polishing his eyepatch, which he always did by hand, some sort of bizarre homage to the gruesome injury that he was never willing to disguise with magic.  _(You're more like him than you realize.)_  Loki shuddered.

He took one step closer and stopped. Thor kept going, embracing both parents in turn, and Loki felt rather chilly when the place at his side was vacated. Well, perfect. "I want the Casket of Ancient Winters," he said firmly. "It's mine. Whether Jotun property passes by blood or by battle it belongs to me now, and I want it."

Odin wiped his eyepatch one last time and settled it into place. He took his time. Finally he looked up and said, quietly: "The casket is dangerous."

"I've proven that I can control it."

"You have. But Loki…"

"I hope you're not going to say that you don't trust me." Loki did come into the room now, advancing to the scorch-lines on the floor that marked Laufey's end. He held Odin's eye and did not let it go. "Because we went to extreme lengths –  _extreme_  – for the express purpose of determining whether I was worthy of trust." He kept his voice low and free of cracks, but it shook. "I passed your test, Allfather. I demand my reward."

"Loki-"

" _Do not deny me._ " Loki knew that he couldn't. Not without rendering purposeless the barbaric ordeal he had ordered.

Sure enough, Odin held up a hand. "I have not said I mean to deny you," he answered. "But you must listen. When we act rashly, when we act in anger, we can hurt even people we love."

He paused a moment, and Loki interrupted him with a surprised little laugh. "Are you apologizing to me?"

"No. I am explaining that it's not your heart I doubt, my son, but your judgment. I am asking for a promise that you will use the casket well and carefully. Do not tap its powers in anger, do not use them without reflection. Will you swear?"

Did he mean to go through with it then? Loki could hardly believe it. He stood straight. "I do so swear."

"And you must not hide yourself away with it and become a slave to its power. As you learn more about the casket, as you make deeper and better use of it, I want you to come to me and talk about what you discover. Will you do that?"

He still remembered the first magic lesson Odin had ever given him, sitting so close, Odin's hands guiding his. He tried not to. "I will."

Odin sketched a rune in the air. (A rune that Loki was perfectly able to cast himself when he put his mind to it.) "Then, the weapons vault will open for you. Go down and retrieve what is yours."

******************************************

When Loki took up the casket he noticed immediately that it felt different. Stormier. More volatile. Still, he was nothing if not stormier and more volatile himself, and as he set it in the ether within easy grasp he knew it was going to obey him.

Thor, beside him, gasped.

"What?" Loki snapped.

"It disappeared."

Ah. He'd forgotten what the act would look like to someone without even a rudimentary understanding of magic. "It's here," he assured, and brought it forth again between his hands. "I've only put it somewhere that I don't have to actually physically carry it with me. This way I'll have it wherever I go."

"Are you going somewhere? Where are you taking it?" Thor frowned. "You  _cannot_ return the casket to Jotunheim, brother. I know you must care for your people, but they already have cause to make war on us, and we cannot now give them back their full strength."

Loki frowned. Skipping straight over the stupidity of the idea that the frost-giants were his people, and the equally-stupid suggestion that he planned to return them their weapon… Thor had actually stumbled on something very interesting. "They have cause to make war on us," Loki repeated slowly. "Thor…  _are_ they making war on us? Right now? The last I heard of Jotunheim you offered a fight, they accepted, and I blasted away at their realm with the Bifrost beam.  _Do they have any idea that the war's been cancelled_?"

Thor gaped at him. "At the banquet Father said…"

"Father was lying through his teeth, and you know it," Loki interrupted. He tried to piece together what Odin might have done, and it didn't take long. "I've been imprisoned. You've been with me almost the whole time. Do you think there's  _any_  chance that Father left Asgard unattended during that time, to go and parlay with frost-giants?" Thor was silent, and Loki thought on. "If even he could? Without the Bifrost travel is taxing, you have no idea how taxing. Father ripped himself from the sleep to save your life, but he is not rested. Have you taken a good look at him lately?"

"But…" Thor seemed to want to argue with him, but did not seem to have anything to say. "He wouldn't just…"

"Bury his head in the sand? Wait and see what the frost-giants are planning?"  _See if his sons can clean up their own mess without putting the realm in further danger?_ These were  _exactly_ the things that Odin might do.

"All right, you're right, Father might well do something of that nature." Thor frowned. "But now that he has told the realm we are at peace, no one is preparing for battle. And without the Bifrost, our armies cannot move with speed."

Loki bit down on any comment about exactly whose fault that was. Instead he just decided to seek advice from someone a bit cleverer than Thor: himself. He drew on the power of the casket and cast a double. A brainless clone would be no more useful than Thor himself, though, so he pulled on some of his own mind, sharing his wit with the copy as best he could. "Good morning, friend! Do you think we're at peace with Jotunheim?"

Thor was staring back and forth between the two of them.

The clone looked bemused. "Are we ever at peace with Jotunheim?"

"I need you to answer my questions, not just ask me more of them."

His double shrugged. "I don't have any answers for you."

"Would it help if I impaled you? That got us answers last time." They scowled at each other. Equally stubborn.  _I dare you,_ said the clone's eyes.  _No you don't,_ Loki wanted to answer, but also,  _You win of course._ The realization that he was threatening himself, and then calling his own bluff, successfully, and in both directions… it made his head hurt.

"Well, you know there's one place you could surely go to get answers," the double suggested at last.

"I sincerely hope you don't mean the dungeon."

"Worse." The double smirked at him, closed its eyes and turned blue.

Loki destroyed it in a shower of flame. But he suspected it was probably correct.

******************************************

Loki told himself that he knew better than to trust the suggestion of the snarky and uncooperative offspring of his own nasty little mind. Thor, however, would not learn that lesson, and seemed determined to follow the clone's advice. He laid out his best arguments, and Loki did not interrupt. "If anyone can talk the frost-giants out of revenge, brother, it is you," he began.  _Appeal to vanity. Good tactic._

"... Father would be most grateful. Most impressed."  _Appeal to pathetic need for Odin's approval. Low blow, brother, but effective._

"… Come, Loki, you must be getting bored in here."  _The God of Mischief is never bored. Those guards in the sickroom with their hands mysteriously stuck to each other's asses? Heh._

"… Well,  _I_  am going. With our friends. We would be delighted if you accompanied us, but of course, it's your choice."

That one Loki finally had to answer aloud. "One big long string of untruths," he pronounced. "You  _can't_  go, unless I help you. They're not  _my_  friends. They would absolutely  _not_  be delighted if I came along, and yet it's  _not_ my choice, is it, because if you go, do you really think I could let you go without me?"

Thor started to light up, but Loki shut him right down. "No, I don't  _want_  to go on expeditions with you," he said, cutting. (Lying.) "But without me you'd all get yourselves killed – and we know who the Allfather would blame." That was true enough.

Thor ignored the parts he didn't agree with. "You'll go, then?"

Loki waved a hand, wearily. His shoulder ached and he reminded himself to be more careful. "Get everyone together and I'll open us a portal. To spy, and perhaps to talk –  _only._  No fighting." The feeling of plotting an ill-advised adventure – an adventure that was technically not breaking any rules, since the rules it  _was_ breaking were so fundamental that Odin had not even bothered to articulate them! – twisted his stomach as always. In the old days, though, the twist had been excitement and entirely pleasurable. Now, he felt a little different. A little fear. But he would not back down. "Thor," he added. "On one condition."

"Anything, brother."

This went without saying, hopefully. Loki knew it was stupid to even bring it up, but still, he was in the mood to be cautious about these things just now. "At this point we almost  _can't_ make things worse with the giants. But still. In the event that we somehow do find a way… in the event that we somehow cause more problems... and Odin is furious at us for making the trip…"

Thor, bless him, had one of his occasional bouts of perceptiveness and didn't make Loki finish the sentence. "Then I will take full blame for everything. Here: as your future king I  _order_  you to come. Now it's not even a lie."

Loki believed him, and very nearly thanked him with sincerity. Just in time he caught himself, and said only: "When you tell your friends this plan they're going to kill you. Can I be there? I want to watch."

******************************************

TBC.

I'm excited that Loki is up to something. I'm not sure he really knows what it is yet, but I do.


	18. Chapter 18

As they gathered together in Thor's room, everyone behaved towards him exactly as they always had: Hogun neutral, Volstagg loud, Fandral mild, Sif suspicious.

But then Thor came to stand by his side, and said: "Tell them the plan."  _That_ was new. Thor deferring. He almost didn't know what to say.

"Well, we… go to Jotunheim," he began, awkward until his tongue found its stride. "And we try and ascertain whether they are preparing for war. Whether the Bifrost damaged the place. Whether they've fallen into disarray without their king. We try to learn anything we can, and then we  _get out._  I can move us all very quickly, as long as we're touching. So we mustn't get separated. And, Thor?  _We cannot fight._ "

Thor nodded and crossed his arms. "No fighting."

"I'll land us somewhere secluded, where we won't be seen."

"No," Thor said, fast. "No, choose a wide open field rather. We must avoid ambush – any place with hiding spots could conceal enemies."

A good point. Well, only one of Asgard's princes was a military strategist, and it wasn't Loki. "Open field it is, then. Everyone hold hands." The warriors all grabbed for each other as if by habit – leaving Loki out. He just rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around Thor from behind; it was more secure that way anyway. "Don't let go." He pulled them all into the ether…

… and out of it again, in Jotunheim, without even straining himself. The casket was a  _fantastic_ addition to his power. He couldn't believe he had never made efforts to get hold of it before now. He'd managed to place them directly in the center of a wide-open plain that was maybe an hour's walk from the giants' city. Perfect.

While he was busy congratulating himself, though, the others were beginning to complain. "It's cold," Volstagg muttered.

"And dark." Sif added – accurately. The blackness was complete. "I can't see anything here. Loki, can you conjure lights?"

"No." Thor was tense, but calm. "We risk bringing the Jotuns down upon us. Have we arrived during their nighttime?"

Loki didn't think so – he had spent two days here once, and nighttime had never grown this dark. But he elected not to discuss that little trip.

Hogun spoke up. "I have heard," he said, "That nights on Jotunheim can go on for years. Lifetimes, even. They have days of sun, months of twilight, and then years of night."

"I could break my record here, then," Fandral mused. "I could have four  _hundred_ girls in a night."

Volstagg and Thor both snickered, but Loki was not in the mood for jokes. "Well, do you want to just stand around in the dark? Or shall we leave? Or risk a light? Those are our options."

"No," Thor said again, still calm. "There is another choice. The frost-giants do not carry torches, Loki. I saw no fire at all in their city."

"So?"

"So  _they_  must be able to see in the dark," Thor explained, just a tiny hint of emphasis on the word.

Ah. Loki let out a slow breath. He should have known it would come to this. (He  _had_ known. Or the thought had crossed his mind, at least.) "Everyone stay still and don't panic," he said at last. "I'm going to perform some magic that will let me see in this dark."

It was so cold here that the change seemed to happen almost on its own. He felt a flash of bitter bitter freezing, and then suddenly, the air was just refreshing, and the darkness came in shades of grey and blue. He was facing the others, watching them shiver with his strange new vision. "I can see," he told them. "Not well, but enough. Let me look around and make sure we're not in sight of any encampments, and then I'll make everybody torches. All right?"

They all said  _yes_ in his general direction. He squashed the impulse to do something fun to them while they were blind, and instead just turned around to get a good look at the plain.

"Oh dear balls of all the gods," he said when he had put his back to the Warriors. Because there were frost-giants. Dozens. Hundreds. Striding fast towards them across the snow.

*************************************

Stupid Volstagg had taken a step too far to the left to be in easy grabbing distance. For all of them to link up and try to disappear was risky at best. If he opened the ether and frost-giants poured in…?

"Everyone stay calm, but they're here," he said, voice nearly steady. Rough, though. As befitted a monster. He made a face and shifted form back to his usual; there was no point disguising himself as the Jotuns would surely recognize Thor and the others. "Let me do the talking."

He conjured light – a ball of it, which he grew into a lamp-post so that he didn't have to waste energy holding it up – and then, ignoring the horrified gasps of his companions, turned to the frost-giants and gave a polite bow.

"We come in peace," he called. "To talk only."

The lines parted for what was clearly the leader, and Loki swallowed. Who was this – Laufey's female? His offspring? (It was curiosity only. He was not wondering whether he might be looking on his true brother, or his mother, for the first time. Not at all.)

"Laufey is dead?" The giant's voice was harsh, a growl rather than Laufey's mellow rumbling. For the first time Loki felt a hint of wishing that Laufey was  _not_  dead, but unfortunately…

"Yes, dead," he confirmed. "I am sorry for your people's loss. He was seen and slain in Odin's chamber, very near to his goal. His death was quick and clean." He stepped forward, more fully into the lamplight. "Are you the new king?"

"Kings are forged only in battle. Until then I am just a leader like any other."

"Ah, I see." Loki tried not to sound disappointed. Apparently he was not King of the Frost-Giants after all… although, he  _had_ defeated the previous king in battle, in a sense, so perhaps that counted…

"Why have you come here?" the giant growled.

"To tell you that Asgard does not wish for war."

The frost-giants whispered among themselves. The leader let them a moment, and then pointed out: "Yet you attacked us."

" _Someone_  from Asgard turned our Bifrost beam on you, yes," Loki answered immediately. "But you'll notice that they were stopped after just a few moments – they were caught, and punished. Horrifically. I myself bore witness." He felt Thor move a little closer to him, and while he appreciated the support it also made him nervous; if Thor decided to open his stupid mouth… "We have come to beg you to be satisfied, and to forswear war," he finished, "Just as Asgard will forswear war despite what Laufey almost accomplished."

The giant snorted. "Asgard denounces the work of its own beam."

"Precisely; Asgard has in fact  _destroyed_ the beam, solely to protect your people."

Thor deemed it a good time to speak up. "Loki speaks true – I destroyed the Bifrost bridge myself," he put in. "I give you the word of Asgard that we seek only peace."

The giant did not take its eyes from Loki. "The word of Asgard means nothing to us. Because of your bravery in coming you will all be permitted to die with honor, but we-"

"The word of Asgard means nothing? What about the word of this?" Loki didn't give himself even a moment to doubt. He transformed and tore his clothing open all in one motion, to give them a good look at the ridges and swirls that marked his body. For all he knew they  _meant_ something, would identify him, bear out what he said. "The word of a son of Laufey. What is that worth?"

Delightful commotion all around. Everyone nudging and whispering. Thor's friends. The frost-giants. Everyone.

Loki stood perfectly still, basking in it in silence.

"Laufey's son," the giant repeated, nodding slowly.

"Yes. I was taken from this realm as a baby. By the Allfather."

"But now you wish to return to us."

Loki backed up a step. " _No_ ," he said – too quickly; he tried to soften it and keep all traces of horror from his face. "No, I'm afraid I have… been gone too long, become too… too different. I don't know this place. Thor is my brother, and these are my people now." He gestured behind him, without turning to look, and settled back into his Aesir form.

He almost regretted it – the air was too cold now, the land too dark. Jotunheim was no place for an Asgardian. (Though perhaps it was a perfectly nice place for a son of Laufey.) "But… if you were willing… I would be honored to learn from you," he began. They were listening, and he kept going. "I would learn everything – your lands, your people, your gods. I would learn and I would teach. So that there will be no more talk of  _monsters,_ and no more stupidity between our realm and yours." He was torn for a moment between politics and loyalty, but in the end, he just had to hope Thor would forgive him. "Stupidity which is largely the fault of my brother, our future king," he added. "And for which Asgard will make reparation, someday, in some manner we can all agree upon."

"I don't suppose you'll offer us the prince's life."

Loki heard Sif gasp behind him and for one fleeting instant he almost said yes. Just to see what would happen. Then he got himself together. "I'm afraid you're correct not to suppose such a thing."

"According to our laws…"

"I would be able to negotiate more intelligently if I  _understood_ your laws," Loki pointed out, as deferential as he could be while still arguing. "Will you teach me?"

"We will consider. And we will consider a peace with Asgard – perhaps. Someday. In the meantime we will not burn your realm this night. Your overture was well-made."

"And graciously received. Er-… Thank you."  _We will not burn your realm this night._  It had a strange lilting quality to it, like a catechism. A ritual phrase perhaps? Marking some sort of provisional peace treaty? Loki couldn't tell for certain. In any case, though, the audience appeared to be over, so he ducked into an awkward little bow, and retreated a step.

The frost-giant blinked and rumbled. It took Loki a moment to realize it was meant to be a laugh – and not unfriendly. "You would learn our customs, child?"

"Please." He found himself flustered for no reason he could explain. "I-… Where I live it's considered that I've attained my manhood, so please don't… I mean-…"

The frost-giant laughed again. "As you will. Come – show yourself, and I will teach you a polite parting."

Loki swallowed – what could the  _parting_ possibly entail that he needed to be in Jotun form to perform it? But he was in too deep now, so he nodded and let the cold steal over him.

"This is not an affectionate parting, not for friends. It concludes negotiations. Between respected adversaries." The frost-giant held out its hand, palm forward. Loki mirrored the gesture. He saw ice pouring out of the giant's hand, and guessed that he was supposed to send ice from his own. Their ices met, and welded – not clear as ordinary ice would be, but a strange deep blue.

They stood for a moment, until Loki asked softly: "Are there no words?"

"It needs no words. Now twist, and withdraw."

Loki did as he was told. As they both moved their wrists, the ice between them cracked, and Loki felt strange alien slivers melting against him. He shifted Aesir almost at once, and stood staring stupidly at the hand that now glistened with remnants of a frost-giant's ( _another_ frost-giant's) ice. Oddly the thought brought no horror – only fascination. "Thank you," he said.

The giant shook its head, exasperated. "It needs no words." Without any further words at all, it turned, gestured, and the group moved off the way it had come.

Loki turned back to his own group, and noticed that they were all shivering and miserable. "We should go," he said at once.

 _Aye_ 's and  _yes_ 's all around, and they went – but first Thor paused to sling an arm around him and squeeze. (The arm went around his lower back; Thor was properly careful of manhandling him around the rib cage). "Well done, my brother."

*************************************

The moment they were safe in Asgard, Volstagg let out a huge laugh and reached to elbow Loki in the side. "That's our Loki! What an illusion. Those ugly blue fools really believed that-"

"Volstagg!" Thor began, but Loki was already in motion.

"Idiot," he snarled, twisting free. "What part of  _no more stupidity_  do you-"

"Loki!" Thor put a hand on his chest, as though to hold him back from fighting. Loki felt himself grinning in response, showing his teeth really and loving it; Thor had never before acted like his friends needed protection from his little brother.

Staying between them, Thor turned to the others and explained simply: "That was no trick. It is his natural looks. Loki was adopted and he-… his parents were Jotun. We only just learned."

Silence a moment. Hogun snorted – did he think it was a joke? – and eventually Sif said, softly, "Loki? Is that true?"

"Technically I was kidnapped, not adopted." He shrugged. "But yes: Thor and I are not actually brothers."

"Do not disavow me!" Thor argued, predictably. "We are brothers all our lives, by habit and by affection. Just… just not by blood, that is all."

 _Just. All._ Ha.

A hand on Loki's arm made him jump. He turned to see Fandral gripping his sleeve, hard… and holding a naked dagger in his other hand.

Murder.  _Perfect_. What a nice ending to his day. Loki was just preparing to laugh bitterly and say so, when Fandral shook him with a wide smile. "Then it's about time we fixed that, isn't it? Give me your arm."

Without waiting for cooperation he took Loki's hand with his own, and closed it around the dagger blade. One sharp tug, sharper perhaps than Loki would have chosen, and then a flash of pain as his blood gushed out onto the floor. Fandral released him. "Thor, come here."

Thor came at once and gripped the bloody dagger without hesitation. He didn't flinch when he was cut, and in fact stretched his fingers so that the wound gaped wider. "Come here, brother." He started forward.

At first Loki drew away, a reasonable instinct when approached by a bloody and agitated Thor. But the others had closed in around him and he couldn't withdraw far. They all – even Sif! – were watching silently, almost rapt. Waiting.

Loki tried hard to think that the whole thing was silly, but recognized the thought for a lie and soon gave up. He clasped Thor's hand and returned his one-armed embrace. "Brother," he agreed into Thor's shoulder, and let Thor kiss both his cheeks, after a surreptitious wipe against his cloak to confirm that they were dry.

When they finally drew apart, Loki reached for Thor's bloody hand once more. "Heal that for you," he offered.

Thor started to give his hand without thinking, but suddenly snatched it back. "No," he insisted. "I'd rather keep it. Surely you understand."

Loki scowled at him and set a good example by magicking his own cut closed. "Sentimental foolishness," he scoffed, but Thor did not relent. So he turned to Fandral instead, before he could be accused of showing sentimental foolishness himself, and told him coolly: "Thanks; I think we needed that."

Volstagg chucked him so hard on the arm that he almost shouted. "I always thought you were a bit odd for a son of Asgard," he admitted. "But for a frost-giant, you're a fucking peach!"

Loki supposed he meant it as a compliment, and bit down on a cutting  _Please do your best not to eat me._  "Why thank you." He turned to Sif in case she cared to express anything nice, but she was only staring, unreadable.

He meant to say nothing, but his tongue had its own ideas. "I've heard that there are some terribly deviant people who have imagined having  _sex_  with a frost-giant," he purred, with a brief little leer. "If by chance you happen to be one of them..."

She started towards him, likely to smash his face, but Hogun got between. "We should go to dinner, before our absence is noticed," he said with his perfect calm.

"We should, friends. Come." Thor led the way, but he kept Loki beside him, with an arm tight around his shoulders.

The arm hurt like nobody's business but Loki didn't throw it off.

*************************************

TBC.

We are getting really close to the end. I'm so sad!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Warning for minor self-harm. I'm not even sure if self-harm is the right term for it given that the motivation is a bit unusual, but it's in here, so be warned.

 

*******************************

Odin wasn't at dinner, so there was no one to ask Thor about the cut on his hand and force him to heal or at least cover it. Loki was annoyed – he didn't particularly enjoy the sight of blood now. Thor didn't seem to mind, though, and even seemed to enjoy it a bit. For him it was a novelty, to experience the real results of an injury.

It occurred to Loki that Odin was wise to staff every training session and every military company with sorcerers adept at healing. Warriors who had never been hurt but temporarily would have little hesitation at charging into battle; Loki himself had now outgrown this fearlessness and would never, ever again follow Thor into a fight.

If the crown prince of Asgard became similarly melee-averse there would be real trouble. And who would be blamed for it?

So, that night before bed Loki tried again. "Thor, let me close that for you," he said again. "You've made your point – whatever it is – and you're bleeding all over the room. If Father sees he'll be annoyed, and he'll blame me."

"He'll be annoyed that we made true the story he's told us all our lives?" Thor crossed his arms, tucking the cut out of sight against his ribs.

"Thor… Please?"

"Hm. So. You'd like to heal me, would you?"

Loki knew that tone. It was the one that said Thor thought he was being  _clever._  "Yes," he said, making his eyes round and sad-looking. "I see it must hurt, and there's no need for it. Let me."

Thor nodded as if that was exactly what he expected to hear. "Very well, then I offer a bargain: you may heal me if you also heal yourself."

Loki snorted and abruptly dropped his look of concern. "Fine, no healing. Far be it from me to offer to  _help_ you. In the meantime at least let me put a bandage over it, though. You'll bleed on your sheets."

He spun a length of clean cloth out of the air, and after just a brief hesitation Thor gave his hand over. Loki pressed the edges of the gash together and wrapped it tightly,  _tsk_ -ing with disapproval. "Your friends are bloodthirsty little beasts," he said. "A little scratch would have done just as well."

"Not for us. Our bond is deeper than that." Thor waited until the wrapping was done to seize Loki's wrist and drag him into a bone-crushing embrace. Loki whimpered and tried to pull away, but Thor held firm. "I don't care if it hurts. You're going to hug me, brother."

After all this time the hurt wasn't unbearable, so he heaved a loud annoyed sigh and shifted to get his arms around Thor's ribs. "There. Satisfied?"

"Getting there." Thor rubbed over his back, appraising. "You're too thin. I wish you'd learn to fight better. I worry for you."

Loki blinked, then disengaged himself. "There's nothing to worry about." And then, because while he hated to say some things he hated even  _more_ to leave a good argument unsaid, he added: "I'm not as fragile as you think. You saw me transform today."

Thor laughed and conceded the point then… but later, once the lights were out, he said quietly: "All I could see from behind was blue. I would look on your face, brother. Someday. If you would let me."

" _I_ haven't even looked on that face," Loki answered, just as quietly. "And I don't plan to. Good night."

*******************************

_If he moved, the serpent would strike. Perhaps if he held still, completely still, it would not see him…_

_Loki wasn't pulling on his chains now, but he knew that he must have rubbed himself raw on them already because he could smell blood. He lay still in the dark, waiting for the burn of the poison, smelling blood…_

… And listening to Thor snoring. Thor. He was in Thor's bed. Safe in Asgard, and the blood he smelled was only because his stupid stubborn brother had gone to bed with a gash in his hand unhealed.

"Just a dream, you fool," he snarled aloud. Thor snuffled in his sleep, so Loki spelled him to deafness and into even deeper slumber.

Loki's heart was racing and he was still cold with sweat. He felt terrified, and knew he would never be able to get back to sleep… unless he woke Thor up for help. Thor would pat his back and say  _shhhh_  and soothe him back to sleep like a baby.

It was tempting, but in the end the humiliation would be just too much to handle and he opted against it. Instead he was going to deal with this himself,  _right now_ , because it was pathetic to fear a dream like the stupidest of children.

As punishment he forced himself to remember the dream, to relive it. The dark. The cave. The  _snake._

He shuddered and his heart pounded harder. So, he forced himself to remember even worse things. To  _imagine_ : the hiss of the door that said Drones were coming. Their cool hands, their dull voices.  _Cross your wrists, Loki._ His flesh prickled.

So he forced himself to  _do_ it, a practiced motion that felt so familiar and natural that he wanted to be sick. He always held left over right, he realized. He had been bound so often that he had a  _favorite way_  of positioning himself.

He was panting and his stomach was clenched so hard it was starting to hurt; he was making himself physically ill through nothing more than a slip of memory and a simple painless gesture.

 _You're lucky this is all I ask_ , he snarled at himself.  _Just sitting for a moment with your hands in your lap. I haven't even bound you._

In response to that thought Loki felt his magic surge, and a moment later something plunked down softly on the covers next to him. He groped in the dark… and recognized his binding rod. Somehow, without meaning to, he had summoned it to himself.

 _I meant to,_  he growled.  _Coward._  He picked it up and crossed his wrists again. It was awkward, but not impossible, to turn the tool around and use it.

Loki felt the seal take hold and dropped the rod, in full panic, yanking uselessly. Suddenly it was terrifying not to be able to see;  _anything_ could be there in this darkness. He closed his eyes and rallied himself, and the torches of the room all exploded into flame.

When his eyes adjusted he saw Thor, beside him, still bewitched into snores.

 _Calm down. Everything's fine._ His own voice was not comforting.  _Because you don't **deserve**  comfort, _he told himself,  _Since there's nothing here to be comforted from. You're afraid of absolutely nothing. Pathetic._

He decided to calm himself down by sheer brute force. He sat up in bed, in full light, with Thor who loved him asleep by his side, and  _ordered_ himself to breathe more slowly. He was in bed. The lights were on and the room was safe. Thor was here. His magic was alive and well; hands or no he was not helpless. Everything was fucking  _fine._

Before long his shaking stopped. His breathing slowed. Thor was beside him and the room was safe. He was not afraid.

 _Good, that's a start. Now think of **them.**_ Loki did – with his eyes open. ( _For now. We'll try with eyes closed tomorrow._ ). Watching the thick safe door of Thor's bedroom, he carefully remembered the Drones. Watching him, touching him, strong hands on his bare skin as he stumbled down the miserable hallway towards the-

" _No_ ," he said aloud. That was too much.

 _You'll get there,_  he promised himself. For the moment though he would prefer not to call up any more memories; he thought he had had enough of that.  _You're doing well with the hands, at least._  And he was. The feeling of being stuck had grown familiar (again), routine, nothing to panic about.

In fact, he was doing so well he decided he should push a little harder.  _What else do you fear? None of their toys can hurt you now – why don't you look at one just to prove it_?

For half a heartbeat it seemed like a good idea, and before he could reconsider he pulled and the ether was opening and he had brought himself a present…

He recoiled. By the size and weight of it in his lap he knew what it was. Still, without looking he made himself skim fingers over it. Cold, round metal. He withdrew his hand fast.

 _(This will go hard with flesh and blood.)_ It washed over him then: the sharp metallic taste, the weight of the thing on his tongue, the struggle to breathe around it. It was too much to have such a device  _near_ him even, and as Loki clenched his fists it suddenly exploded in a shower of hot red sparks.  _Ow._

He looked down at his lap and saw that the pear was gone but he had burnt holes in Thor's covers. He murmured apologies (to whom?), spent a few moments wavering between feeling relieved and feeling disgusted with himself, and finally decided that while it was fine not to want torture equipment in his bedroom, uncontrolled explosions were an embarrassing overreaction. He could not pat himself on the back and go to sleep after that; first he had to do penance, to  _earn_ his rest.

But how? He decided he needed to pass one, just  _one_ test manfully, and then he would allow himself to go back to sleep. (Cuddled safely in Thor's arms.) All he had to do was make himself proud,  _once._

 _Show me you can refuse fear,_ he told himself.  _Be brave through something – anything – and that's enough._ He couldn't quite face his terrible memories yet, he had already tackled his reluctance to be helpless, and so he supposed what was left was pain. Could he bear pain without panicking?

 _Let's find out. Not with any of **their**  tools though. Thor's room must be full of dangerous things; just grab the first one you see lying around. _He opted not to select an actual weapon; if he lost control and buried an axe in his skull (or Thor's) he would have a lot of explaining to do. Rather, he needed something innocuous, something he could handle, something that would not push him too far (on his first attempt).

Draped on one of Thor's chairs was a wide leather belt. Perfect. With a flick of his fingers Loki sent it up into the air and whirled it around. The whistling noise terrified him; his whole body buzzed with imagined pain  _already_ , and he hadn't even started yet.

 _Let's be smart about this. Endure the sound first._ He sat quietly a while, listening, trying to will his body to relax. Eventually listening was all right and then he began to listen  _and remember,_ to think about what it felt like to be beaten: the hot bursts of pain, the dull throbbing afterwards. At first he was tensing again, but after long moments of breathing and listening, he was able to remember calmly.

 _All right. Now for our finale. Take it on your back; if you have problems healing the last thing you need is to try and explain away a black eye tomorrow._ He nodded and floated the belt down to rest on his bedmate. Thor was still snoring away, blissfully unaware, and Loki wished for a moment that  _he_ had a sorcerer brother who could give a sleep as peaceful as that.

But, before he was allowed to lose himself in daydreams he had something to do.

Without unbinding himself he struggled up and got his knees under him, then leaned forward to rest on his hands. With his wrists crossed it was an awkward, strenuous position, and even after he vanished all his clothing he broke a sweat. A sweat of effort this time, and not of fear.

 _Well, you won't be here long. Go on._ He concentrated and brought the strap up into the air. He made it whirl, loudly, and the sound was pretty fucking intimidating and for a moment he wondered whether it would make more sense not to go through with this...

Before the thought was even complete the belt was striking, slashing down across his shoulders.

The stroke was so deafeningly loud, and so powerful his arms slipped out from under him. His face plunked into the mattress.

Then the pain hit. Hard. For a moment it seized his whole body at once, and then afterwards radiated hot steady pulses from the site of the blow. " _Oh-._ "

One brief noise made it past his lips, and after that he only breathed – harshly. He couldn't do anything about  _that,_ but lying in a heap was undignified, so he did drag himself back up onto all fours.

"Nice work," he said at last, aloud.  _Let's do it again._ The belt was whirring before he thought to stop himself, and he was just barely braced up when it struck. " _Ah-… fuck…_ " It was the same spot – exactly the same spot. Who knew he'd have such good aim, even blind and conflicted and with a weapon he'd never before laid hands on?

"Not funny," he hissed to himself, but the whistling continued and he realized that at least some part of him thought he wasn't finished. " _Really_?" His back  _burned._ He heard the change in rhythm that meant a stroke was coming, and he held his breath and  _CRACK_ there it was.

He squirmed, rolling his shoulders and arching his back, trying to manually dissipate the pain that was all concentrated on one punished stripe of flesh. "Enough,  _enough_ , isn't that enough?" he snapped, hurting and irritable.

Irritable. Not terrified. "There. Are we satisfied?" he said. But he answered himself with another lash, which he supposed meant  _no_.

So he continued. He bore the beating without any more complaints until he chanced to look down, and realized that somewhere in the past few minutes he had begun to bleed. The sight of dark red on Thor's gold sheets startled him, and his concentration broke and the belt fell harmlessly to the bed.

He groped for his binding rod and unsealed his hands, then pushed himself back to study the stains he had made. "You really are a lunatic," he said at last – meaning it.

On the upside, though, he had been lashed hard enough to draw blood and he hardly even cared. The spot stung of course, and when he touched it his fingers came away sticky, but he felt all right. Here, where he was safe, and powerful, and among friends (friend), he didn't fear pain. Or injury, which he could clear up with just a thought. After one last moment of enduring the sharp throbthrobthrob just to show he  _could_ , Loki smoothed himself over with magic and vanished the wound completely.

_There. **Now**  you can rest._

He put out the lights, pulled the enchantments off of Thor, and rolled him onto his side to make a better snuggler out of him. For a while he just lay still and enjoyed the feeling of safety and absence of pain, and before long sleep took him away.

*******************************

In the morning Loki awoke stiff, as usual. It irritated him more than usual – the envoy to the frost-giants, who did not fear helplessness or pain, should not be unable to rise from his own (brother's) bed without gasping and hissing like an animal.

Thor jumped up looking perfectly healthy, and the irritation crested. "Give me your hand," Loki ordered.

"What?" Thor looked down at the stained bandage, and then threw his arm behind his back. "No. I told you, you can heal it when-"

"I know. And I said:  _Give me your hand._ "

Thor smiled. He was going to have to learn a smile that wasn't quite so sunny. Kings just did not walk around grinning like this; it was undignified.

Loki unwound the bandage, which had become crusty and bloody overnight. The cut looked awful. The edges had come apart and were pink and soggy-looking with new healing tissue, but the cut was not closed and the deep red inside of Thor's hand was till plainly visible. "Ugh." He took a deep breath and chilled it, then bent to exhale slowly over Thor's palm.

"What are you…?  _Ohhh._ "

The deep groan of relief told Loki just how much the injury had been hurting, but he bit down and did not lecture. All he said was: "That should numb it a little while I work. I know how the itch of healing annoys you." First he had to use some destructive magic, to undo the progress Thor's body had already made and unmake the infection that was already starting to take hold. Once the cut was fresh and clean blood was flowing, it was an easy matter to draw the flesh together and knit it back as good as new.

A mark remained, though. A line, almost a burn, but before Loki could work a vanishing, Thor pulled his hand away and asked to keep it. And then stood waiting expectantly. "Your turn, brother."

Today they would be approaching Odin to tell him that they had paid a visit to the realm's most dangerous enemy. It could not hurt to have his full strength about him for that conversation, could it? Loki nodded, and reached for his power, and began to work.

It took longer than he would have thought, but then, his injuries ran deep. By the time he was done he was exhausted and wanted to return to bed. No chance of that, though: Thor was bouncing around him like an overjoyed puppy trying to convince him to come out and show off his glorious perfect health.

Perfect health. He was perfectly healthy. Because it was usual for perfectly healthy people to have themselves whipped to bleeding simply to test their own nerves.

Which reminded him: "Let's clean your bed first. It's covered in blood. Servants will wonder." He wanted the evidence of his own insanity gone as soon as possible.

"Couldn't you just magic it away?" Thor suggested.

"Not now; I'm tired. You have no idea how much I just had to fix."

Thor grew quiet. "No, brother, I do. I remember too clearly." He made a visible effort to cheer up. "Very well, we'll strip the bedding ourselves. Come, help me." He started to untuck corners of the ruined sheets. For a moment Loki thought he wouldn't even notice that some of the blood was on Loki's side instead of his own, but then he said: "I had no idea I was so greedy; I must have occupied the entire bed last night."

Pretend-bickering felt nice. "Yes. You are greedy with bed territory, and you snore." Loki moved his binding rod from the bed and added: "I've thought about sealing your mouth shut with this thing. Do you think it would work?"

Thor winced. "You should destroy that. Silence me some other way."

"Don't tempt me." Loki spun a ball of light between his fingers, wicked. So Thor threw a pillow at him – and he was able to duck, fluidly and without any pain. His mood soared and he accompanied Thor to breakfast without any further prompting at all.

*******************************

But breakfast went a little oddly. Because partway through the meal, he felt… magic. It was buzzing in his lap, like a live animal. He looked around fast, trying to see where it was coming from, but he knew the feel of everyone in Asgard with power, and this power belonged to none of them.

"Do you-" He started to ask Thor if he felt the buzz too, but changed his mind because the obvious explanation if nobody else was doing it was that he was doing it himself – and the last thing he wanted now was for Thor to realize how insane he has finally become. "Do you want another?" he improvised smoothly, pointing at Thor's empty glass. "I've been practicing, at your request."

"Why, thank you, brother!" Thor really did look delighted when he conjured the glass full, and he felt a bit guilty because conjuring liquids at the table was a trick he had known since he was a young child. He had only kept it from Thor (as well as from everybody else) until now so that he could use it for things like spiking people's drinks with bodily fluids when he was angry… or with poisons, when he was  _very_ angry.

He accepted Thor's thanks with a nod and smile, and tried not to mind that his magic was going haywire. Whatever was happening in his lap was… was not really in his lap, so much as hovering invisible  _near_ his lap, so after a few moments of wondering he pulled for it and conjured the mystery article into being himself.

It was a soft scroll, and once he unrolled it he saw that there was another scroll inside it. He read the main note first.  ** _Dear Prince Loki:,_**  it said, in print that was pretty but far too neat to have been made without machines.  ** _The terms of our arrangement with you did not include the retention of equipment used during your sessions. Any and all machines, tools, or other articles used in our facility remain our exclusive property and are not to be treated as souvenirs. Please cease and desist all efforts, magical or otherwise, to obtain any additional items. If the item you have taken remains in your possession, we expect it will be returned forthwith. Thank you for your consideration. Sincerely:_**

There was a signature underneath, but Loki could not read it. The rest of the note he understood well enough, though. The Drones apparently thought he had taken their ghastly torture device for _fun_.

As if. Antagonizing the Drones was certainly something that he might consider a good idea… in about two or three thousand more years. When he was drunk. And suicidal.

"Brother?" Thor was looking at him, and Loki turned the scroll facedown immediately.

"Oh, it's-… nothing. A love letter from Sif. Leave me alone." Once Thor had snorted with laughter and stopped paying attention, Loki unrolled the smaller scroll. Inside that was an even  _tinier_ scroll, which Loki thought was ridiculous, but in any event he started reading.

The note was handwritten.  ** _Loki – Hadn't realized you wanted keepsakes. Apologies; would've given you this instead of burning it. Here's what's left. Appreciated your honesty._  **No signature at all this time, and Loki was glad because he didn't like that the Drones seemed to remember him personally and would have liked even less to know them personally as well.

The tiniest scroll had to be unrolled carefully, because it was brittle, charred around the edges. He recognized it at once – his own hand, on ruled paper. His confession. All that remained of it was:  ** _Also, I like chaos._**

He destroyed the other notes, but tucked the burnt scrap into his sleeve. It was a message worth remembering.

*******************************

TBC.

Odin next chapter.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always, writing Loki/Odin dialog takes me a long time. Sorry. I broke this chapter into two, so at least I can get up the part I'm done with and you don't have to wait forever. The next part – the last chapter, I think – will be up in a couple of days, hopefully.

 

************************

They tracked Odin to the library, where he was perusing a shelf that Loki himself had raided a few days ago. Loki wondered if he was being spied upon. It made him nervous enough that he began to decide to wait a while before confessing…

But Thor was already in motion. "We have something to tell you, Father," he boomed.

Loki pulled him aside. "We said  _I_ would handle this!"

"You handled the last bit of diplomacy. Now it is my turn. See how I learn from you, brother." Thor was  _teasing,_ damn him. "You should approve. And if only you would-…"

"No," Loki interrupted, knowing full well where the lecture was going. "I have no interest in bettering my ability to bash things with swords or staves or clubs. All right?

Thor put his nose in the air. "I was going to say:  _if only you would critique my performance._ But if it's so much trouble, I can talk to Father alone."

Odin cleared his throat. "Thor?"

"I apologize, Father." Thor had his hand on Loki's shoulder. "We have something to tell you. First I wish to make known that it was entirely my fault; Loki was blameless."

Loki very nearly groaned aloud: he couldn't have thought of a way to make himself look more guilty if he had tried. If he let Thor dig any deeper he might as well just cross his wrists and be done with it. "Father, it turned out well," he interrupted. "As we knew it would. We thought very carefully, we risked nothing but our own lives, we only-"

"You went to Jotunheim."

"Yes." Loki knew he had screened them from Heimdall as capably as ever. "How did you know?"

So far there was no anger. "I could sense that you both had gone from the realm," Odin explained calmly. "I thought perhaps you'd taken Thor to Midgard, to see his woman, but you both said nothing. You went, and returned, in stealth."

Making it obvious that they had gone someplace Odin would have forbidden. Loki would have kicked himself for such a stupid mistake, but they were still in front of the Allfather, and so kicking himself would have to wait.

He ducked his head. "We thought we could investigate, without being seen. We only meant to look. We wanted to know whether things were all right, or whether Asgard needed to prepare for war. It was our mess, and we thought you would prefer us to clean it up ourselves."

"Of course I would prefer that in theory. But you went to _Jotunheim_. For that you should have asked my permission."

Loki swallowed. Looked at the floor. "I thought you might forbid me to go," he explained. The words, the lies, knit themselves together and rolled seamlessly off his tongue. "I thought you might forbid  _me_ , but allow Thor, and I knew that if he arrived alone they would blame him for the Bifrost. I didn't want his blood on my hands. At least if I were there, I could explain. And get us home if things went sour."

"I told him you would never forbid him to come with me, Father!" Thor backed the story wholeheartedly. "But still he worried. So, we went in stealth. You had not expressly forbidden us."

"Mm." Odin was failing in his efforts to appear displeased. Loki took note.  _So you **were**  hoping we would go._ At last Odin said: "Tell me what happened."

Thor leaped in to answer right away. "We saw frost-giants," he said, excited. He would have to learn to think before he spoke. No good came of rushing into such a delicate topic. "Loki spoke to them. And transformed for them. Into the form of his birth. I saw it." The hand on Loki's shoulder tightened all of a sudden. "You never told me."

And no good  _ever_  came of broaching at topic like that! "Thor," he hissed.

Odin did not seem willing to open up this argument. "Loki is your brother, as I've always said," he said sharply. "That is all you needed to know."

"Of course, Father," Loki meant to try to smooth things over. "We've-"

… But Thor wasn't finished. "We never knew why we were so different," he accused. "Why he never grew as strong as me. Why our horses always dislike his scent. Why it was clear that I would rule, even though there was no suggestion I would make the better king. It came between us, Father – it was always between us, and we didn't know."

Loki realized that he was about to laugh – and cry. He was dizzy, unsteady on his feet. This was worse than anything Frigga had ever done: Thor had just confirmed his right to feel betrayed, and now he was about to bawl like a baby.  _Oh, look at that scrape, poor Loki, that **does**  hurt!_

"Enough," he snapped. Voice rough, cracking. "Let me go." His eyes were burning and his chest was tight, too late, he was  _crying_ ,crying in front of the Allfather, just because Thor had taken his side. If there was anything more pathetic...

He pulled free of Thor's arm and turned away, gripping the back of an armchair, forbidding himself to cover his face. That would look even worse, like a weeping woman, so he stood still facing away and tried to get ahold of himself. He drew on magic to help, and the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees as he pulled without any control at all.

Behind him Thor was going: "Father?" and Odin said: "See to your brother."

Then Thor was hovering, touching him from behind. "My apologies, brother. I did not mean to upset you."

Loki waited until he could warm the room again and speak with some steadiness. "You should have left the speaking to me. You are as diplomatic as a bull in mating season."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry."

Loki would have answered him – maybe even to tell him that apology was unnecessary, but just then, there was a crash from across the library.

Odin was on the floor.

************************

"Father!" Thor ran to him, but Loki could only stare. "Loki – Loki, help, what's the matter with him?"

"It's-…" Loki cleared his throat. "It's the Odinsleep. That's how it started last time."

Odin was stirring. "No," he rasped, clinging to Thor, trying to raise himself. "I am fine. Get your mother – she will… know what to do."

Thor dashed out, leaving them alone together. Loki was paralyzed. For some reason the sight of Odin in a heap was making his heart pound, making him feel  _terrified,_ but he couldn't tell if the terror was  _for_  Odin or  _of_  him. "Father?... Is there… a spell…?" He did his best to firm up his voice. "How can I help."

"A chair." Odin was already trying to stand. "I am fine."

Loki helped steady him with magic, still oddly reluctant to come close, and conjured a chair. Odin sank into it. "Thank you, my son."

Abruptly Loki found his voice. " _No._ Don't call me that. We both know it's fiction." Hearing Thor challenge the Allfather on his behalf had made him brave.

"For the last time, Loki: it is not. Your whole life I have loved you as a son."

"Until you sentenced me as a criminal."

"You  _were_  a criminal," Odin pointed out. Already he was looking a little less grey. "But still I love you. And I hope that one day we can forgive each other. I know it will take time…" He paused, gathering himself up, and Loki interrupted.

"Unless you can turn time backwards, there is no way I'll ever look at you the way I once did," he hissed. "I loved you. I  _hungered_ for you. I would have done  _anything_ for you…" The old desperation was welling up in him and he tried to let it go, to tell himself that it no longer mattered. The argument was old. It would not change. It was the past.

He still could not calm down, but he could at least force himself to rage in silence. He said nothing more. His breaths were harsh and even.

Odin spoke into the quiet: "But now you are disappointed in me, and your views have changed." He shrugged. "I understand. Every son that ever was has felt the same, at some point."

 _Breathe. Only breathe. A frost-giant does not lose his temper simply because…_  Oh, who did he think he was fooling? His temper was raging fully out of control.

After a moment Odin at least had the grace to add: "Some more rightfully than others."

Loki still didn't trust himself to speak with calm, so he didn't say anything at all. At least he had stopped crying.

"I love you, Loki. You will accept that some day."

There were voices in the hallway. "Mother's here," Loki managed, and backed even further away.

When they bustled in Frigga began fussing and scolding at the same time. "You cannot keep fighting it," she said at once.

Odin let her feed him something – a potion perhaps? – but then shooed her away, with strengthless arms. "You have been saying that for years."

She rolled her eyes at him and patted his chair. "Loki, would you move this? He needs to go to his bedroom."

"Woman!" He surged to his feet, glaring, and Frigga backed away with half a bow.

"All right, all right. I only wished to help. As I've always done."

Loki caught something in her tone then. The same strange something as the other day, when she'd said something about Loki being more like Odin than he realized. Something about only sleeping where you felt safest. What did she-…

All of a sudden he understood. And he needed to think, needed privacy so he could work out the full implications of this idea without looking calculating in front of his family. He had to go, now, before anyone saw that something was wrong.

"I need the bathroom a moment, I… don't feel well." He backed away, surely looking flustered enough to sell the lie, and then turned to hurry out the side door.

He could hear Thor behind him, explaining: "Injury distresses Loki now. He behaved this way earlier, when he saw me bleed. Can I get you a drink, Father? When he sees that you're stronger, that it was only a momentary fit, surely he will be comforted."

 _Perfect._ Thor was the perfect unknowing accomplice. Loki locked the bathroom door behind him and bit his lip. He looked around, made sure he was alone. Cast a charm so that Heimdall couldn't see him. And then, only then, let an enormous grin split his face.

He was so delighted that he felt light-headed, so he leaned on the counter, staring at himself in the mirror, trying to keep hold of himself.  _Your father only likes to sleep where he feels safest._  Odin was exhausted. He had been fighting the sleep for so long, and clearly he was strong, but still, even a king and god had a breaking point. Loki could swear to that; he had plenty of experience with breaking points himself lately and he thought that by now he knew one when he saw it.

If he could just make Odin feel safe, he would rest. He would lie quiet and helpless and harmless, lost to the Odinsleep for who knows how long, leaving Thor the only man to outrank Loki in all of Asgard. And Thor was no threat. No problem. Because he  _loved_ Loki and wouldn't hurt him, and also because he was no match for Loki anyway, but  _also_ because _,_ perhaps most importantly, he wouldn't do anything at all to jeopardize the bond they had been building.

In other words, ultimate power awaited, if only Loki could lull the dragon now.

And he could. He  _could._  He had some truths to work with, and some lies that Odin very much wished to believe, and the day Loki Silvertongue could not spin a tale with such good material would be a very sad day indeed.

So what, exactly, did he need to say?  _Think, Loki,_  he whispered silently, into the mirror.  _Focus._

************************

TBC.

I do believe that Loki sometimes thinks he is being calculating when really he's just totally half-baked.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: This is ridiculously long.**

************************************

Gripping the counter, staring unblinking so that there would not be even one second of darkness during which he could panic, Loki had himself remember: What had they asked about? What did they really want to know?

When he first called up memories of the Drones' questioning, memories of scrambling for answers to save himself from pain, a sharp stabbing cramp tore through him and almost ended the experiment straight away.  _No – don't panic,_  he ordered himself, staring into the mirror, breathing through it until it faded.  _It's nothing. You don't fear pain, remember?_

He breathed deeply, as he had last night, calming himself down bit by bit until his heart had slowed and he felt ready to continue. There. What had they asked about? Thor, mostly. Bringing the frost-giants to his brother's coronation. (Pain again, worse this time, but he kept breathing and ignored it.) Fighting with Thor over the Bifrost. Odin had finally come right out and said it in the end:  _It's Thor I am concerned for; you're ten times the strategist he is._

Apparently the fear was that with Odin sleeping Loki would overwhelm his brother, and… and do what? Take over the guarding of a people that didn't even like him? Sacrifice his freedom to sit on the throne and be hated? He knew perfectly well that he would have no joy of ruling.  ** _I like chaos._**

But the overwhelming stupidity of Odin's fears didn't change the fact that Odin wouldn't sleep until they were soothed away. There had to be a better method than telling him, truthfully:  _I have outgrown the desire to impress you, so you can take your realm and shove it; I have no interest in guarding it for you any longer._

Were there clues in what Odin had just said to him a few moments ago?  _I have loved you like a son,_ et cetera,  _One day we can forgive each other,_  et cetera. Thor:  _Injury distresses Loki now._

His mind churned; he let it. Moving over all the things he knew, fitting them together like a puzzle, creating words, persuasive ones, until he was sure he could show Odin exactly what Odin needed to see.

When he was ready, he splashed water into his eyes in an excess of caution and rubbed them red.  _Then_  he took the cloaking charm away. If Heimdall looked now he would think Loki had hidden himself because he was embarrassed to be seen in tears – nobody would guess that he'd spent the last ten minutes grinning like a skull and plotting.

************************************

When he came out, Frigga and Odin had gone from the library. Thor remained. "Mother persuaded him to lie down for a little while," he said. "But he is strong. He will not sleep."

"He is stubborn," Loki corrected. "But let's go to him. I think we might owe him an apology; we upset him and now look what's happened."

Thor looked almost sulky. "If apologies are owed it is mutual," he muttered, but Loki saw the crease in his forehead.

"It was not your fault, Thor. He was just surprised to see you take my part. More surprised to hear you speak so well in public. He'll get over it."

Thor returned his smile and shoved. Loki had always hated the way Thor could toss him around one-handed, but now, he was so glad to be able to bear shoving that he didn't mind.

"Did I really speak well, brother?"

 _It was always between us, and we didn't know._ It was very well-put, especially for Thor, but Loki wasn't about to give his brother any excuse to keep beaming. "If you fish for more compliments from me I'll say something that is not complimentary."

When they got to Odin's bedroom Loki suggested that they visit him in turn. He sent Thor in first, but just a few short moments later Thor returned, and gestured Loki in instead. Looking thoughtful.

************************************

"Your brother and I had a good discussion," Odin began.

Loki blinked. "Thor was in here for two minutes. Can he string a single sentence together in that time?"

"I'm disappointed, Loki." Odin rose slowly from his chair and came forward. "You underestimate your brother – and me."

Of course. Odin was a powerful sorcerer; he must have pulled them out of time for a nice leisurely conversation. "How long did you talk?" he asked at last, more respectfully. He reached out with his own magic and tried to feel whether time was flowing normally now. It seemed to be.

"A few hours at least. We spoke about you."

"Did you? I don't-…." Loki shut himself up in time.  _I don't see a rack,_  he was about to scathe,  _So how could you believe anything he said? Oh wait, it's only **me**  who has to prove his words by suffering; everyone else is believed without question._ He cleared his throat. "What did you say?" he asked instead. Politely.

"Please – sit." Odin gestured and a chair slid forward. Once Loki was seated he settled himself down on the edge of the bed and said: "Thor has become very devoted to you."

Loki didn't like his tone. "And that surprises you." Was it so shocking that he inspired devotion? Then something occurred to him that he probably should have thought of earlier. "You didn't plan for that… but you  _did_ plan for me to become devoted to  _him_ ," he realized. "Didn't you. That's why you sent him to me in that place. So that he would show me kindness, at which point I would immediately begin eating out of his hand." And it had  _worked._  Loki felt sick at how easily he had been bought. He was going to  _kill_ Thor for this.

Odin shook his head. "In truth, Loki, no: I did not expect any of that. I didn't think his presence would be much comfort to you at all. He has changed."

True enough. Before Midgard Thor would have been an absolute plague in the dungeon – watching without a shred of sympathy, lecturing Loki when he showed resistance, heaping contempt on him when he failed to take punishment in silence. "Yes, he has. For the better – if my opinion means anything."

His first move, successful. Odin gave a small smile and said: "I can't remember the last time you praised your brother and meant it."

Loki only shrugged uncomfortably. "Your plan worked even better than you expected. You sought to tame me through fear, but now you've got me feeling affection instead. You are a truly masterful strategist, Allfather."

"You cut me – as you mean to." Odin raised his chin. "But I don't complain. Now that your anger is harmless, you may cling to it as long as you like."

Loki laughed. "Harmless?"  _I am plotting against you as we speak!_

"You wouldn't kill your brother – you've admitted it yourself. And while Thor lives, you can never rule."

He bit down on a sarcastic  _Oh can't I_? He seemed to recall that he had done just that, while Thor played around in the Midgard desert.

"The people recognized you both as heroes, Loki, but they will never forget the sight of Thor carrying you home like a babe in arms. The sight of his strength, next to your weakness, will stay with them forever."

_Father has asked me to return you shirtless, bruised and unbathed…_

It had never occurred to him to wonder what that striking entrance was meant to accomplish. Well, now he knew. The Allfather really  _was_ a master strategist; Loki could learn quite a bit from him about stone-cold calculation.

"I hate you," he said unexpectedly. Calm and even. "I think I should have let Laufey have what he came for."

 _Nice work, Loki._  There went his chance to lull Odin to sleep. All his plotting, ruined.

So abruptly he changed tactics: perhaps he could use bullying instead. It  _was_ possible to fell Odin in such a way; Loki had (accidentally) done it down in the weapons vault. "It makes me ill to look at you now." Not that Odin would care about that. But there were better, uglier things he could say. "And Thor as well – he used to think the sun rose and set on you, but now he's sworn he'd  _fight_ you for my sake and I believe him. Your sons have grown up, Allfather, and they've grown away from you and you can't stop them."

Odin's jaw clenched, but he didn't speak in time and so Loki kept going.

"Do you so fear the sleep that you'll carry on this far past your endurance? Limping along in frailty and weakness, like a, a sick pet that we all pity too much to put down." His voice was smooth, and acid enough to hurt his own ears. "We can all see that your body  _begs_  you for sleep, Allfather. Do us a favor and oblige it. Your idiot son will take the throne, and I'll be around to clean up his messes, and Asgard will prosper and I will freeze and everything will be as it should. Lie back."

He raised his hand and with a burst of power threw Odin back against the headboard. Odin only said: "Loki," and Loki heard that it was full of weariness.

" _Don't_  tell me that you love me," Loki anticipated. "You lit a fire, and you had better not approach again until it burns out. If you care anything for your own safety."

He stood there breathing hard, and wondering what Odin was going to do. Kill him, perhaps. Shout at him. Weep over their destroyed family.

Odin did none of those things. He just smoothed his hair back and said firmly: "Don't shove your king; it's disrespectful." And he lay down in the bed.

" _What?_ " It couldn't,  _couldn't_ be as easy as that. Loki rushed forward and went to his knees. "I- I don't understand," he stammered.

"What more was I waiting for?" Odin pointed out, reasonably. He was slowing down, the energy draining from him with every word. "There will be no war. Asgard is in good hands. Strong... competent hands. My sons have grown up. As you say."

"But- but wait!" Loki grabbed his hand and slapped it a few times, frantically. "Father! Wait." Odin's eye opened. "What about-…" He thought fast. "What about Mother?"

"This will not… surprise her. I will see her… when I wake. Good night, Loki."

" _Wait!_ "

But Odin was already asleep.

************************************

"Father? Hello?" No answer. Loki swallowed. "Can you hear me, Father – are you…?" He realized with some surprise that he was  _afraid._  Of what?

"Father." Supporting his weight with one hand on the edge of the bed, Loki leaned close and actually  _tapped_ on his eyepatch. "Wake up." Still nothing.

"Wake up!" He licked his lips. "If you don't come stop me I'm going to… do something." A strange strangled giggle escaped his throat.  _What are you doing?_  "I'll… I'll put your helmet on and jump on your bed. Father?"

No answer. So, being a man of his word, he hid the room from Heimdall, and then put on Odin's helmet and proceeded to jump on his bed. For maximum effect he summoned Gungnir and swung it around while jumping. "We are all very mindful of decorum and dignity in the House of Odin!" he shouted. Complete with wild laughter. He could not believe Odin was not rising up to put a stop to it.

He conjured a few inappropriately-colored birds to fly around the chamber squawking. "Father?" he knelt down on the bed, still giggling. A bird zoomed past his head and he had to duck. "Better wake up. They're going to shit all over your desk."

He looked down at Odin, lying so still… was he even breathing? Curious, Loki leaned down closer to his face to check.

When he did that, he was swept by the memory of what Laufey had looked like making that same motion. Bending down to whisper poisonous resentment in Odin's ear…

He felt himself tingling and realized that he was transforming.  _Becoming_ Laufey – or whatever he looked like in this state; he had yet to really examine himself in a mirror but he imagined he must look something like his sire.

He was done laughing, and now felt quite serious, so he vanished his flock of birds and tossed the helmet down onto the bed. He straddled Odin and bent very low, as Laufey had done. "Allfather. Odin. Can you hear me? Could you  _stop_ me?"

For once he wasn't sickened by the deep growl of his own voice. Now it felt only… ominous. Properly so. It was loud in the silence of the room, even when he meant to whisper. As loud as Laufey had been.

He remembered the spike of ice growing in Laufey's hand, and without much trouble grew one of his own. "I could gut you right here." He lowered the spike to rest against Odin's chest. "Or I could take your other eye too. With half your eyesight you brought a frost-giant home – what might you adopt if I blinded you the rest of the way?" He waited, but it was not very satisfying to threaten a statue. And it made his stomach churn, taking on the Allfather – even when he couldn't fight back.

He brought the ice dagger down and drew it over Odin's cheek. Gently – so gently it didn't break the skin, didn't even scratch. It left a shining wet streak where it melted against his warmth.

"Ice doesn't melt when it touches  _me_ , Father _._ " He chuckled. Odin lay still.

He considered the sound of his own laugh, and decided that he liked it. In a dark, private sort of way; it was not a laugh he would ever allow anyone to hear. "Hmm."

He also liked the sound of his own pensive rumble.

He  _didn't_ like the look of his hands, the blue, the ridges. He frowned at them. Such a contrast to Odin's mellow gold skin. He cupped Odin's cheek and felt the difference in temperature.

But he didn't like the tenderness in the gesture; if Odin really  _was_ watching he might misread it.

"I could kill you where you lie," he whispered. "Or I could leave here, and kill Thor instead. Perhaps I need a life to pay for what was done to me. His would do as well as anyone's. I would make it clean, though. He deserves that much from me."

He waited. Still no motion. "Or, perhaps I would not make it clean. Perhaps I'll chain him and take my time with him, and wear through him by inches, the way I learned from your own torturers." He thought about it a moment, what it would look like, Thor wide open and helpless and streaming with sweat and blood. His eyes would show the confused sadness of a kicked puppy… the fury of a wounded berserker… and pure, raw  _pain._ That much he could imagine. He couldn't quite imagine what Thor would look like broken and hopeless, but then, it wasn't Thor's habit to be broken or hopeless. Perhaps he would have to learn how.

He held Odin's eye open while he thought, because he knew that what he was thinking would be reflected in his face, and if Odin really  _was_ sentient he would see it and despair. "Yes, it  _will_  be terrible," he rumbled. "Now that I have the casket I can heal him over and over again, and keep going. I'll kill  _your son_ for a hundred lifetimes, and I'll enjoy every second of it. And I'll do it right in this room, so that you can hear each scream and each time he begs mercy." Inspiration struck and he smiled – an awkward expression on a Jotun face, he could feel it, but he didn't care. "You'll hear how each time I force new pain on him I make him call me  _brother_."

He released Odin's eyelid and sat back on his heels. "You asked how deep my anger ran, Allfather. Now you know. Sit up and fight me if you can."

He raised his dagger and waited. There was no movement. He waited a bit longer.

Then there  _was_  movement – but not from Odin. Loki caught movement out of the corner of his eye and he whipped around and noticed, for the first time, that Thor was standing in the doorway. And had been.

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**A/N: THAT WAS GOING TO BE THE END OF THE CHAPTER. WHAT A NASTY CLIFFHANGER IT WOULD HAVE BEEN. SO I DECIDED TO POST ALL THE REST AT ONCE INSTEAD. THIS IS THE END.**

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Loki stared. "Thor."

"Loki." It was almost a question.

 _It's not what it looks like,_ he wanted to say, but he couldn't swallow. He felt hot and prickly all of a sudden, sick, and he realized that Jotun bodies were not meant to break a sweat. "How long...?"

"Long enough." Thor sounded oddly choked too.

"Why didn't you stop me?" Loki melted the dagger away, vaporized it into a cloud of steam.

Thor crossed his arms over his chest, shoulders drooping. "I let Father treat with you as he thought best," he said at last. "I did not interfere with him. I would not interfere with you."

 _That's a lie,_ Loki decided.  _I think Odin put you up to this himself._  But he had more important things to wonder about than a sleeping god's motives. He climbed down slowly from the bed. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Every word."

He came a few steps closer. "And?"

Thor held his ground. Squared his shoulders. "And nothing. You are a liar. You have taken me to task since we were children for believing your words without question; now, finally, I have learned." But Thor himself was a terrible liar; his voice was shaking, his eyes darting back and forth across Loki's face.

So Loki toyed with him. "Oh? You don't believe I was serious?"

"I believe you were seeking to jar Father from his sleep," Thor insisted. "Testing whether you could." He looked more and more nervous the nearer Loki came. "Am I wrong?"

Loki laughed, softly. It was almost a purr. "Would you believe me if I answered?"

"I would."

Loki closed the remaining distance, towering over him. "I thought I've warned you not to be so naive."

Thor still didn't flinch - and Loki had to admire his discipline, because clearly he wanted to. "You're my brother, Loki. I trust you."

"Indeed." It did not seem to be entirely true, though; when Loki reached out slowly towards his face, Thor shied away. Tense all over.

That hurt more than Loki was expecting, but he did his best to laugh it off. "Ah. You're wiser than you know."

Thor spoke into his shoulder. "No – it's only that you forget: you'll burn me."

"I won't. Face front." Loki touched his chin and turned his head – pulling the cold away carefully, keeping himself a temperature that was bearable against Aesir skin. "Now look. You wanted to see, so look!"

Thor looked, eyes wide. Loki stepped closer...

And Thor gave ground at last, edging along the wall. Loki followed him a bit and then ordered: " _Stop_ ," and Thor stopped. "Do you trust me?"

"Loki," he pleaded. But when Loki gave him no help or reassurance, just continued to stare at him with a frost-giant's eyes, he finally drew himself up and made his own decision. "Yes."

"Then you're a fool. Turn around."  _What are you doing?_  But even his inner voice sounded wrong now. He ignored it, and focused on watching Thor hesitate and take a deep breath and turn around.

"Hands." Thor gave them, and Loki bound them with ice.  _Enchanted_  ice, which would not shatter, not even for the god of thunder.

"Loki...?"

"Quiet." He passed a hand over Thor's face and frosted over most of it, sealing his eyes closed. He shoved, and it took Thor a step or two to find his balance. Blind and disoriented.

"Brother?"

Loki conjured a chair. "Sit. It's behind you."

Thor stumbled against it and sat.

"Did you hear what I was saying?" Loki pressed.

The sound of his voice was apparently terrifying to a blindfolded man; Thor flinched and his breaths became loud and heaving.

Loki reached out with magic to tap him on the shoulder, which made him gasp. "I said:  _did you_?"

Thor gasped  _yes_.

"Are you afraid? And don't lie to me, brother – I can feel your heart." He came close and tore open Thor's shirt. Laid his hand over Thor's chest – and let it chill, until it was cold enough to hurt, almost cold enough to damage. "Are you afraid?"

Thor was shivering and jerking. "Yes.  _Yes_ , yes I'm afraid, but Loki. It is not pain I fear."

"Oh?" He withdrew his hand; he didn't yet know how much cold it was safe to share. Yet. "Then what do you fear?"

Thor sagged with relief once the icy touch was gone, but he still shook.

"Helplessness? Humiliation? The touch of a frost-giant? Death?"

" _No_! No, of course not, n-n-none of that." Thor was shaking harder and harder, freezing, and without thinking Loki swirled some warmer air around him. Thor arched into it.

"Then what?"

"I-I'm af- af-." He was chattering too hard to speak clearly. He licked his lips and tried again. "I'm af-fraid that you hate me, brother."

Loki felt his breath catch. Thor turned towards him, at least towards his general direction, and said: "Loki, please. D-Don't hate me. I'll b-b-bear pain for you if you wish to s-see it, but please. You're my b-brother. Be my friend."

Loki swallowed. Once, twice... his throat was still thick. "Y-..." He couldn't talk. "Wait." He shifted his shape, thinking he would have an easier time controlling the body he knew best. He cleared his throat again, and this time it stuck. "You are a fool."

"Loki!" Hearing the familiar voice, Thor leaned towards him. He looked chilled to the bone, and Loki felt sympathetic goosebumps breaking out on his arms. He couldn't go on.

"Still me." He sighed and put a hand on his brother's head. "Is this hurting you?" he said, tapping on the ice.

Thor's lips were blue. "Yes – the c-cold. Against my eyes."

It was harder in this form, without his instinctive control of moisture and temperature, but still Loki was able to channel enough magical heat to melt it. "Better?"

" _Ah-_ yes. Thank you." Thor was still shivering, and blinking water out of his eyes, but he wasn't struggling against the ice that bound his arms. "I meant it, Loki. If it would help you. I am willing to suffer for you, if it will help. I will do it gladly."

Loki sighed again, deeper, and looked him over. Soaked and shaking, his shirt ripped open, a red handprint over his heart. "I don't think it would," he said at last. That wasn't strictly true, but in a way it was, because putting holes in Thor (especially in Odin's hearing!) would definitely give him a few moments' joy… but he would almost certainly feel sorry about it later. "But I believe you, and I thank you for the offer. That  _does_ help."

Thor relaxed back in the chair. He didn't ask, but his discomfort was visible and before long Loki gestured wearily. "Stand up; I'll get that off you."

Thor stood at once and faced away. "That was impressive magic, brother," he said as Loki melted the ice from his arms and conjured a towel. "Can you do it now? Or only in your other form?"

His  _other_ form. As if it were some sort of auxiliary, a spare. A bonus body.

"I don't know," he said, after far too long a pause. "I think that when I freeze things I start to change. I should practice, though. It would be a useful skill."

"It would." Thor finished fluffing his hair dry and tossed the towel down over the chair – and both disappeared. "Come – let's leave. Mother will want to see him." He nodded towards Odin, still lying motionless.

"Why hasn't she-… Thor." He felt sick. "She didn't  _hear_ , did she? She wasn't with you?"

Thor shook his head. He looked kind and understanding; Loki fought the urge to jump on him and claw his eyes out. "I entered alone. No one followed me."

"How could you know that? She might have seen the whole thing."

"She did not," Thor said with certainty. "Now that I know the value of Mjolnir as a doorstop, nobody can ever disturb me when I want privacy." He held out his hand and the hammer flew to him from the hallway.

Loki eyed it. "That is useful magic."

"That is nothing. Useful magic is that Mjolnir saved your life; it's how I caught you when you-… fell. That is the most useful thing the hammer has ever done for me or ever will."

Thor seemed to be serious, and Loki told himself that the sentiment was annoying and embarrassing. "You mean when I  _jumped_ ," he corrected, a halfhearted attempt to spoil the moment.

Thor refused to have his mood darkened. "When you slipped."

"When I let go."

"By accident. In any event that rescue was the most useful thing. And  _don't_ contradict me again, brother," he anticipated, and broke into a smile. "I am now your king, after all."

Not too long ago that would not have been a joke. But it since  _was,_  Loki answered with a very deep and servile bow. They laughed together.

He let Thor throw an arm around him and lead him from Odin's bedroom, and occupied himself with half-serious thoughts of freezing the throne while Thor sat upon it. A frost-bitten ass ought to teach him not to tease.

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That night, in their suite (they had finally given up the pretense of keeping separate quarters), once the lights were out: "Thor? In case you're worried, I swear I won't interfere with your ceremony this time. The only frost-giant in attendance will be me."

"Good, that's good. And... do you think…"

"I think you'll do very well."

"I hope so. I'm ready to try. With your help."

"Which you sound awfully confident of receiving."

"Am I wrong?"

"Hmph."

"Exactly. And… Loki? How are  _you_?"

"What do you mean? I'm fine."

" _Loki_. Please tell me the truth, brother. I wish to know what goes on in that… that mind of yours. The truth."

"The truth?"

"Please."

"The truth is I am angry, and alien, and insane."

"…"

"But I think I'm doing well, brother. Better."

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**The End.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW. All done. This was absolute insanity to write, and I appreciate all your comments more than I can say. A bunch of times something you guys said would get me thinking and form the inspiration for future scenes, or even the direction of the story as a whole. I really appreciate the help.
> 
> And the encouragement. I'm delighted that people liked what I've written and wanted to read it. (Or were horrified by it. Or whatever.) Again, thanks so much to everyone who took the time to put thoughts down for me!
> 
> I suppose the biggest FAQ at the end of a story is "moar?", and the answer to that is: I have no plans to do a sequel, but it's possible a couple of one-shots may strike me at some point, and if they do I'll post them as "chapters" of this so that you can find them easily. But as of now, no plans.
> 
> Bye all, and thanks for reading!


	22. Note

Okay, the follow-up stories are now posted separately.


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